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In another conversation (Ekosj’s very interesting conversation on vaccination numbers vis a vis deaths) I saw this quote from The Hammer:
“Covid is over. Let’s move on. Half the country already has.”
I think half the country is exactly right. But it feels like the other half can’t move on, whether from fear, ignorance, or sheer stubbornness. My sister is my only sibling that still lives in our hometown, Portland, ME, where my 94-year-old mother still lives by herself. My sister tested positive for COVID and emailed us this the other day: “I wear two N95 masks and never go anywhere except to take Mom to the store and doctor appointments, so I don’t know where I got it.” My brother and I didn’t comment because nothing I could have said would have reduced her stress level. I’m pretty sure she won’t be moving on any time soon.
And as much as I’ve been happy with Texans’ response to COVID (at least after the initial few months), the differences between communities can be shocking. In the rural school district where I sit on the board, masks have been optional the entire school year. We offer in-person instruction only, and our attendance rate has remained at 95 percent except for a short drop to 93 percent in November. I read this in the San Antonio paper yesterday: “On Wednesday evening, South San Antonio ISD interim Superintendent Henry Yzaguirre made a plea to parents: bring your child to school every day. Attendance had dropped 5 percentage points in one week. Out of 7,824 total students, the district was missing 2,013 Tuesday — a 26 percent absentee rate. About 110 staff were out.”
The other half still seems terrified. I don’t know what it will take for them to ever move on.Published in