The Boy in the Cotton Mask

Last week our youngest, William, returned to school after a long absence due to the pandemic. Six months ago, the entire student body was pulled from the school to avoid infection. We know more about COVID-19 now than we did back then, but out of an abundance of caution, in our town parents may choose to send their kids back for two days per week or not at all.

Most kids hadn't a chance to say "Good-bye" to their friends or even collect up their belongings when everything closed. At the end of the term the teachers in Willy's school tried to give them closure by hosting a vehicle parade through the school parking lot. They encouraged us to decorate our car, but William wasn't interested. As we drove through the winding route past the teachers and school staff, all waving and smiling with music and bubbles streaming through the air, smiling kids poked through sunroofs and leaned out of windows while clutching balloons and pin wheels. When we neared William's teacher my wife, Christine, said,

"Willy, there's Mr. Thomas."

William sat quietly in the back seat. He didn't smile. He didn't wave. As the line of cars came to a halt, Mr. Thomas approached our vehicle. He called to William.

"Great job Billy!"

William turned towards the window. Mr. Thomas stopped short of our car. At first I thought he was social distancing, but then I realized he was just close enough to see Willy's face. Mr. Thomas dropped his arms to his side. His smile faded. William raised his hand summoning a half-hearted wave as he said,

"Good-bye Mr. Thomas."

I was driving so it was difficult for me to ascertain what was unfolding. I glanced back to see my nine year old stoically bidding farewell to his third grade teacher.

"Cripes Willy! You'll see him next year. It's not like we're moving," I exclaimed.

Christine tapped my arm. My male conflict avoidance system sent out a class five priority alert which told me that this was something beyond my emotional range, and I should shut up and let my wife explain it to me later. Christine gazed out the window as she waved. Unlike William, she smiled but my male mandatory facial feature recognition survival system, which alerts me to when my wife has her hair done, told me that her expression was a mask.

Normally Christine attends Willy's parent/teacher meetings. I did all the secondary school conferences for our oldest son, Aidan. Now it was her turn, but the last time Christine had a work conflict. Being older parents with me older than her, I seem to have lost patience for run on meetings. As I've aged, I've become a get it done kind of guy. The clock is ticking, and before I'm relegated to gumming grits in between shouting at the TV, I'd like to get back to that birdhouse I'm building in the barn. So I had to fill in for my wife and listen to his teacher tell me what William was deficient in. During the meeting Mr. Thomas explained,

"We test Billy on a new math concept, and he gets a 70%. Then we give him a little instruction, and he gets it all right. When we move to another concept, the same thing happens."

I always knew Willy was good at math. What I didn't know was that everyone in his school called him "Billy." Apparently, in first grade William announced that he wanted to be called "Billy" because it was easier to spell. I never dreamt I would hear comments like what Mr. Thomas was about to say,

"He's doing the next grade level in math, and we haven't found the ceiling yet."

I was floored. I was always a good math student, but sometimes the apple falls by the tree then rolls down the hill and drops into a river. We knew math came easy for Willy. I just didn't know how easy it was for him. I was thankful that his school had the resources and desire to push kids like Willy when they exhibit proficiency in a subject. It all came to end though when the pandemic hit.

The online program that was cobbled together after the shutdown didn't include any proficiency enrichment. At first we were just glad that there was something to default to, and Willy quickly learned what was required of him. As the term ended, it was clear that his interest in math had waned. We thought we could make up for the abrupt closure and loss of his friends by keeping Willy busy with fun activities throughout the summer, but he had developed a fear of contracting the virus and was reluctant to leave the house. Eventually, we settled on a routine in which he and I enjoyed a local playground while his brother took a tennis lesson. We especially liked rocketing down plastic slides then touching a support pole to discharge the built up electrons. As the summer wore on, the increased humidity prevented slide shocking so we resorted to following a nearby abandoned trolley line. Eventually, Willy agreed that it was safe to venture to the beach so we carved it up on boogie boards for the rest of the summer.

As the school year geared up, we told Willy he would be attending class in person for two days per week and that only six students would be in his class. The other days would be online even though we now know kids for the most part don't spread COVID-19. He was okay with all of that. On the day he was to ride the bus to school, Christine loaded up everything he needed including his lunch into his backpack. Recharged and refreshed from the summer break, Willy and I walked briskly to the end of the driveway to wait for the cheese wagon. He was full of youthful exuberance and happiness. Gone was the boy who solemnly waved to his third grade teacher.

"Dad, did you like fourth grade?" he asked.

I attended Catholic school which was fresh in my mind, having just penned a piece about it last week. Not wanting to spoil the good vibe nor fib to my son, I compromised with,

"Uh, it was alright, I guess."

"I can't wait!" Willy admitted.

We reached the rendezvous drop zone for ole yellow. The sound of the bus rumbling down the road was familiar and comforting. I looked to William. He was smiling as he saw Old Number 22 lumbering towards our position. I imagined he was recalling his secondary school glory days.

"William your mask!" I exclaimed, jarring him back to the present.

Willy squirmed free of his backpack then zipped open a side pocket to reveal his supply of masks. He pulled up his pack then affixed a mask to his face which I adjusted as the bus rolled to a stop. Willy darted forward. He stopped short of the road, turned and through his mask said,

"I love you, Dad."

The sight of his covered face with the idling bus a short distance away filled the empty spaces of my heart. He waved then turned sharply. I was going to yell to him to look both ways, but he paused at the edge of the street and complied with my silent orders. He crossed the road then disappeared behind the bus. The driver looked skyward as she waited for Willy to find a seat. The bus revved up then rolled away. I remained until the sounds of the birds calling to each other replaced the dull rhythm of the engine. I breathed in the cool morning air hopeful for the future. Not so much for mine, but for his. Then I said,

"I love you too, William."