I walked out of the back of the school this afternoon and into the balmy spring weather. Private soccer lessons were in progress on the upper field, flocks of kids clustered for track practice, and others chatted in the playground house, played basketball, and chased each other around.
I can’t help but associate weather like this with that time four years ago when we were sent home for an early spring break to let the Coronavirus (remember when we called it that?) run its course. What first brought my conscious attention to it on my walk to the parking lot was seeing a student I had two years ago. There she was, in shorts and a t-shirt, her unmasked face open to the world. She wore that mask every day of the school year two years ago, so whenever I see her now, I sense a mismatch between the bottom half of her face that my brain improvised and what it actually looks like.
When I got into the truck with Chris, he remarked, “You know today is the four-year anniversary, right?” Of course I did, except that was a Friday, not a Wednesday. A series of images flashed through my mind of those early days of the pandemic: sourdough starter, puzzles, homemade kombucha, washing and wiping down groceries, running through the near-deserted streets of Crystal City, sadness when Ralph Northam declared we wouldn’t be returning to the schools for the remainder of the school year.
We are still digging out of the havoc wreaked on our young people by being cut off from school, friends, activities, and the watchful eye of adults who have dedicated their lives to educating and protecting children. I have a shovel and will keep digging.
My Corner of the Village 