Pride in citizenship on America's feast day

What stories will we tell years from now about Thanksgiving 2020?

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My daughter and I pretty much raised each other after the passing of her mother. She grew to be as much a part of me as my hands and feet and heart.

Two states apart, we talk on the telephone almost every day, but we have been in the same room for only about five hours since January.

We knew no way for the two of us to safely be together for Thanksgiving. So that isn’t happening. It’s likely we won’t see each other until next spring.

My love for her means I’d rather not see her than take a chance on her health. I feel the same about other people I love who I won’t see, either, as long as the virus rages at current levels.

I’m now recovering from surgery at home because that’s the best for everyone. (Things are going well.)

These decisions have been easy. You have probably acted similarly, because such decisions are small ways to help us feel like the people we wanted to be growing up: the heroes of our own little stories.

We certainly don’t want to be the villains.

But not everyone sees it our way. 

For instance, I was told last week that my life was of no value when weighed against the younger and more stout.

It happened during a discussion about how mask-wearing was depriving people of their rights. I had the temerity to assert that I -- one of the 23 million Americans with an auto-immune condition -- was at elevated risk of death if I caught COVID-19 from an unwitting carrier who insisted on avoiding masking up.

“I’m not afraid to die, but what great American right will I be dying for?” I asked of a man from the old neighborhood who I thought liked me. I guess I was wrong, because his answer was “The right to die peaceably, at a time of your own choosing.”

Yes, I know that no matter which way you turn that sentence around, it doesn’t make much sense.

It was actually the second time this month someone who wanted to assert his freedom from maskiness told me that it was just fine if I died as a result. The justification wasn't logical the first time, either.

Both of these discussions, unsurprisingly, took place digitally. It would be harder to tell me to my partially-covered face that my life was not worth some personal annoyance.

And it is only annoyance, not hardship. During a recent visit to Chicago’s University of Illinois Hospital, I was encouraged to keep a mask on for 36 straight hours. Long before I left, I found that I didn't notice the mask anymore.

A couple of times, after shifting the mask to drink, I forgot to replace it. Nurses told me not to worry about it. This was very brave of them, considering that in March, COVID-19 had ripped through the hospital staff, they told me.

No staffer, I was told, had died, and the hospital subsequently, through good policies backed by good science, gained a handle on prevention. 

One nurse told me she had contracted the disease, and recovered. 

She was very frightened of getting it again. Several staffers had that experience. Some had easy symptoms the second time, and some much worse, I was told.

But the nurse swallowed her terror and came to work anyway.

Everybody I saw working in the hospital wore a mask. I never saw anybody fidgeting with them.

After you wear a mask all day, I guess it becomes like any other article of clothing. Leather shoes are much hotter than paper masks, and people have little trouble keeping those on all day.

Though the benefits to a mask-wearer are real, and growing as we learn more, most of the point in wearing a mask is protecting the other guy.

The part I don’t get is that mask-wearing is a very easy way to feel like a hero to your fellow citizens, and I thought that many of those who are against masks are in the hero-worshipping segment of our society.

Generally, they won’t abide anyone kneeling during the Star-Spangled Banner because it somehow reflects on our military. Anyone who wears the uniform is a hero, according to them, and that does not exclude war criminals. Any police officer is a hero, no matter his or her record.

I’m not big on heroes because I’m an adult. But there are groups of people I admire and am thankful for today. 

They include those who risk their lives to protect me from those who seek to harm me or my country.  

They also include the people who try to heal others despite great risk to themselves. Like everyone else, they’re far from perfect. But they’re incredibly brave. They are very much aware of how much danger they’re in, and every day they put on their scrubs and do it again. 

That kind of courage is impressive. Years from now, those who survive will have great stories to proudly tell. 

And their money will be no good in the corner tavern. Any previous evil deeds will be erased in the sight of God and mortals.

The people who won’t wear a mask or won’t otherwise alter their behavior -- on this holiday or at other times -- to save their fellow citizens’ lives will be in a different status when their actions are remembered years from now.

They will be like those who stayed behind on another feast day, as English king Henry V and the original, vastly outnumbered, Band of Brothers prepared for the Battle of Agincourt in 1415. In the words of Shakespeare:

“That he which hath no stomach to this fight,

Let him depart; his passport shall be made

And crowns for convoy put into his purse:

We would not die in that man's company

That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is called the feast of Crispian:

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,

And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall live this day, and see old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.

And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'

Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll remember with advantages

What feats he did that day: then shall our names.

Familiar in his mouth as household words

Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,

Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.” 

The names of those today who won’t deign to even wear a mask or try to change plans in an attempt to save their fellows cannot similarly be remembered. Maybe they’ll care later. But it will be too late for them.

“And gentlemen in England now a-bed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.”

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