We Are All in This Together

Honda Odysseys.  Dodge Grand Caravans.  Kia Sorrentos.  Toyota Camrys.  Police cars.  Work vans.  Ford F-150s. Teaching is a Work of Heart.  I'm a Teacher...What's your superpower? "Oh my gosh!  How ARE you?"  30A.  Biden/Harris 2020.  Bernie.  Trump.  Black Lives Matter.  The Thin Blue Line.  "I haven't seen you for months!"  I Love My Dog.  Isle of Palms.  Amelia Island.  "I've missed you so much!"  Stick Dad, Mom, Son, Daughter, Son, Dog, Dog, Cat.  Rainbows.  =.  Choose Life. 45. TYB. Bearcats. Lions. Falcons. Wrestling. Soccer. Football. Army Mom. Semper Fi. Team Kentucky. COEXIST...

They kept coming, the cars.  Each one carrying a person or two who had just gotten the first of two Covid vaccine shots.  Most were teachers and school employees.  Some were first responders.  A few were elderly.  All were excited.  

Windows rolled down. "Hey!!!" they shouted.  Coworkers who hadn't seen each other in months chatted excitedly across a line of cars while they waited the required 15 minutes after getting the first dose of the vaccine.  People took selfies of their bandaided arms or their vaccine cards to post on social media.  They called friends and families with, "I got it!"

I walked the lanes, knocking on windows to get people's attention, pulling them away from their cell phones, telling them to move up to the next spot;  breaking up conversations between friends because the car in front had pulled up, and they had to as well.  Conversations reluctantly ended with, "See you soon, I hope!"

Police cars parked next to cars with BLM stickers on the bumper.  Trump supporters next to Bernie fans.  I started paying attention to the drivers and what I thought their cars and their bumper stickers said about them.  I decided that in this moment, it ultimately didn't matter.  Every single person in line was there for the same reason: protection against a universal threat...the coronavirus.

I wandered through the cars thinking about the moment we were all in.  How we are all desperate to get back to normal yesterday.  How we long for life without masks, where we can see each other's smiles.  How we want our kids back in school complaining about homework.  How we want to go out to eat and to the movies and concerts and have birthday parties and cookouts and go on spring break and to football games.  How we can't wait for everything we've missed these last ten months but how we know it's going to be at least that much longer until we can start to see the tiniest bit of normal back in our lives.  And damn, that seems like forever.

We ARE all in this together. I said a silent prayer of thanks for the scientists working feverishly in faraway labs to come up with a vaccine. For those brave souls who were part of the test groups to see if the vaccines actually worked.  For the people in the factories manufacturing the doses.  The FedEx and UPS workers transporting the vials to their destinations.  The local public health officials organizing distribution sites.  The nurses and doctors administering the shots.  People like me volunteering with the very mundane jobs of moving cars up and up and up in line until they are finally free to go.  

In my mind, it's a big set of gears up in the sky; big cogs connected to smaller cogs, connected to even smaller cogs, all working together to get us back to normal.  I have 20 more hours to volunteer before I can get my own vaccine. My motivation for helping isn't totally altruistic.  But as I stood there on those cold mornings last week watching humanity pass by me, the magnitude of what I was part of was overwhelming.  It is an honor to be even the tiniest little cog in this huge machine of human ingenuity.  I am proud to say that I helped.

For future reference...https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2021/02/03/multimedia/virus-vaccine-kentucky.html?action=click&module=Top%20Stories&pgtype=Homepage&fbclid=IwAR3FJs4j-kMdXpu0nylhwHWoZn6iLYJ4jXYhRqXSeOQw2UwE8OVkl_hAHSI