I am at an age in life when you presume nothing remains that can surprise you. You have experienced the death of your father then grandmother, a brother or sister, and finally your mother. By the time your favorite aunt or uncle passes you have become a bit insulated emotionally and prepare for a best friend or ex-wife to pass – particularly the ex your parents were ok with but hers were dead set against any type of union with you. “Just continue to date until you find the right one for you”. A favorite myth mothers tended to hold on to as they continued to counsel their daughters to remain single for “just a little bit longer.
But in this period in history where a single virus, the Covid-19 has crashed economies around the world and killed countless number of seniors, a fear quietly develops within you that your time has come – the end truly is near. The choice is whether you “leave this world” exercising some control over how and when, or do you succumb to the panic you hear in the voices of many of your friends and or become proactive and “take the shot”.
While “we”; my wife and I, have not decided to take the shot, I decided to call my brother in Iowa for his take on the virus and the vaccine. I tend to forget he began preaching at age 13 so when we do talk, I do have to hold my tongue. I am an expert on the language of expression mastered by Richard Pryor. My brother does not appreciate my ability to quickly draw up a recollection of a phrase from Mr. Pryor that would seem appropriate for the moment. I am talking with my brother who has become a preacher first and my brother second when it involves a certain protocol or way of addressing him in a conversation. When asked if he had taken the shot his reply was affirmative and he looked forward to the second shot. He even bragged about having a member of his congregation who is a registered nurse that made sure he was scheduled for “the shot”. He asked me if I had taken the shot and I hesitated while mumbling no. Just hearing him talk with such embolden grace after my response increased my anxiety. When he gets in this conversational mood, he reminds me of the tone of voice my mom would use when she had had enough. You know that tone, the one where you wished you had a choice to have a fathers’ whipping or a mothers’ scolding. When mothers scold, they would go back to your birth and the length of time they were in labor just for you. By the time they would finish, you were in tears. It’s at that point you want to say ENOUGH, JUST WHIP MY BUTT and get it over.
He tried to be kind by giving me a rationale that was too logical coming from the mouth of “Bunny”. We called him Bunny from a child and only those who knew us when we were children have heard us refer to him in this way. But it was Bunny all grown up and sophisticated and royal but with an earthy laugh that reminded me that somewhere within that robe was “brother and homeboy” itching to get out.
I am so proud of him I will take the shot because he has. Who will motivate you?
