José with his wife, Kate .
I am pleased to feature José DiMauro as our Saturdays with Seniors guest blogger today. Born in Argentina, José graduated from medical school at Univ De Buenos Aires. He left home in 1963 to start his medical career at Chicago’s Mercy Hospital, then became board certified as a pathologist at University of Illinois in Chicago. After retiring, Dr. DiMauro moved with his wife Kate to Admiral at the Lake, where I lead a weekly memoir-writing class via Zoom. All of us who continue wearing masks to keep ourselves and others safe will surely relate to this essay.
by José DeMauro
A summer day in 2020. With the invisible threat around us, we had finally set into a daily routine. Every day after breakfast we would put on our masks and go for a walk along our stretch of Lincoln Park, or along Lake Michigan itself. Those walks were our escape from the lockdown.
Yes, we visited our children a couple of times, too, but always in their backyards, masks up. We occasionally ventured to restaurants, nervously eyeing the other customers sitting six feet from us. Trips to the grocery? those were just furtive 100-meter dashes.
But those daily walks to the park or lakefront were our real moments of freedom. Even if some viral particles were floating around, they would not possibly survive the fresh air and the beauty!
So we felt safe on that late summer morning. We rushed from our apartment energized, not wanting to waste any more time inside. We happily greeted neighbors and the personnel in the lobby. They greeted back to us. The world was perfect.
Through the sliding doors we went, carefree, east, towards the Lake, the sun stroking our faces. It was then that I raised my hand, and a sudden feeling of dread overtook me.
I had forgotten my mask!
Not even Kate, with her own mask neatly secured to her face, had noticed it. The people that greeted us had said nothing! Was its shyness on their part? Or had they really missed my absent mask? We see what we expect to see at times.
My hand covered my mouth with shame, as Eve hiding her nude body when expelled from the Garden of Eden. I felt desolate, suddenly ejected from bliss and freedom. The inviting and safe world had turned foreign, hostile, dangerous. I felt…Naked!
What to do?
I thought of turning back. We hesitated. The sunny park was calling from across the street. The traffic light turned green. With my hand still on my mouth, we crossed.
The long winding path canopied by a full foliage was relaxing. Each time we came upon other nature lovers, I instinctively raised my hand to my face.
Funny, in years past, when I would see TV images with people wearing face masks on the streets during flu season in East Asian countries, I would dismiss that as just an “Oriental thing.”. It was my new normal now!
I felt as if I was in one of those dreams where we are suddenly found without clothes, exposed to ridicule and disgrace. But passersby seemed unconcerned. Many were not wearing masks themselves, some carrying them under their noses. We continued, greeted by birds and squirrels oblivious to my fears, interested only in picking up the nuts that Kate invariably carried to throw for them. Toddlers ran free around young parents, discovering summer for the first time. Would it be their normal to see people with masks?
We finally completed our usual periplus and returned to the familiar confines of our building, but this time, I did it hurriedly, with my head down, hands over my mouth. As soon as I entered the lobby, I ran for the box with the supply of masks for visitors, snatched the first one on top, and donned it quickly
What a sense of relief…as if I had finally pulled my pants up!
Totally get that “forgot a mask” feeling. And the thoughts about who wore masks in the past. And will kids know no different. And will masks just be a part of our public life forever. Thanks for the article. Loved it!
I knew a lot of people would relate to José’s essay –thanks for the great comment, Cynthia.
I love this post. It has really well captured the feelings that I had on a few occasions when I forgot my mask. Always leaving the apartment with that feeling that I’m forgetting something only to realize what it was when I come across others.
The good news here is that so many Chicagoans are wearing their masks that we stick out — and feel bad — when we forget ours. All of us working together to bring that positivity rate down — all we have to do is “pull our pants up” and do it!
I am part of the contingent of “mask forgetters”. I even put a note on my front door to remind me, and of course i ignore it. Now i put a “reminder” note outside the door by the lock that tells me to go back inside and get a mask. That helps…sometimes.
I love the honesty in this comment, Audrey. Especially that last word, “…sometimes.” At least we’re all trying, right?!
It is certainly a love-hate relationship, I love it when it saves my health, I hate it when it flaps like a sail in luffing. The mighty mask! Well written, thanks Jose, and Beth for sharing.
Thank-you! to the readers above for their comments, and to Beth for her encouragement and for helping me to improve my writing!
Jose,
A nice piece that we can all connect with. A particularly sharp observation about children not being able to see our faces. I hadn’t thought of that and the effect it might have on them. My salvation is the lakeside bike path — obviously out of reach until at least April. So I know the restorative balm it provides to we shut-ins. Thanks you for taking us along on your outing.
Yes Ann, I am afraid that the use of masks will become more common in the future, even for the common flu and other viral infections. For today’s youngest, it will be a new normal, as in Asian countries. Thank you for your comment.
Jose’ – What a wonderful observation. That shock at the feel of moving air has hit me a few times as I go about my workday (1 in-person shift a week) and those unavoidable errands for necessities and sanity protection.
I wonder if the people who are children now will value eye contact more because of the lack of facial expression during the masked months?
That’s a good thought Deborah! Maybe eye contact will become more important and we will learn to concentrate on them more and to read them better. Eyes can tell a lot, we just need to learn to read them!
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