We’ve Taught Our Boys That Sharing is Caring — Now It’s Against the Rules
Parenting through COVID-19
On a summer day while on vacation, my husband, Brandon, and I headed outside to toss Frisbees with our three children. After sheltering-at-home for more than four months, donning masks and bathing in hand sanitizer, we craved a safe retreat from COVID-19 reality.
We thought about canceling our trip, but figured we could remain physically distanced at the time-share we road-trip to every summer. We ordered take out, grilled burgers and hot dogs on the lakeside barbeques and wore our masks every time we left the property.
But on that day in the courtyard, our nearly perfect scorecard for following COVID-19 safety rules took a huge hit.
“Will you be my friend?” a little girl asked as she made her way toward me with her younger sister trailing behind. She had been watching us from a nearby picnic table, seemingly mesmerized by the soft discs we were throwing into the air.
I shot Brandon a nervous glance, then heard myself say, “Of course, I would love to be your friend.” She was cute to say hello, but inside butterflies took flight.
Was she infected? Was she a silent carrier? What about her contact tracing path?
She said her name was Lily and she had just turned 5. I’d guess her sister, a carbon copy of Lily’s same wide eyes and toothy smile, was about 3. Her mom and other sister, a toddler, didn’t move an inch.
I wanted to say, “I’m sorry, Lily, but we need to keep a safe distance and we can’t share our toys because of the virus.” Instead, I stood silent as each of my boys introduced themselves and invited the girls to play. The girls’ mom didn’t seem concerned, so I tried to follow her lead.
A split second later, Lily picked up a Frisbee and prepared to launch it in my boys’ direction.
“Lily, here!” my son Max called, as he positioned himself across the lawn with outstretched hands.
She threw the Frisbee. Max caught it and lobbed it toward Lily’s sister while I silently prayed he’d keep his hands away from his face.
“I got it!” Jack said, when the Frisbee missed the girl’s hands and landed in the bushes. He retrieved the Frisbee and gave it back to Lily.
While Frisbees flew through the air, two competing forces smacked me in the face: Play well with others; protect your family members.
I have spent the better part of eight years teaching my boys to play nice, make friends and share their toys. I’ve been grooming them to be open, honest and caring. But the pandemic threw me for a loop. The very things I had taught my boys to do were now breaking the rules — and potentially putting all of us at risk.
How can our family share Frisbees with these little girls when any one of us could be carrying a deadly virus?
I tried to lay my fears aside as our boys ran across the courtyard, tossing the Frisbees with their new friends at the same frequency as me and my husband. They helped the girls retrieve the discs that flew offsides and they were gentle in their delivery; we were teaching them to be tender and kind.
About 10 minutes into play, Lily walked over to me. “I’ve been sick the past couple of days,” she announced, out of nowhere. “But it’s not the virus.”
I froze. In my mind, I was screaming, THIS IS WRONG. We’d been outside of our own four walls for only two days, and already I felt like an epic failure when it came to parenting during a global pandemic.
Sure, all of the kids were mostly physically distant, but they were also handling the same objects. All five kids constantly touched their mask-less faces, especially their noses. And, they weren’t washing their hands or using sanitizer between throws.
Did they graze Lily’s hands while giving her the Frisbee? Were they giggling so much that they might have sprayed secretions? My mind went down a rabbit hole of “what ifs” and “if onlys.”
In the game of parenting lessons during a global pandemic, the coronavirus was playing a good offense and our defense was being put to the test.
Why couldn’t I stand up and say, “I’m so sorry but because of the coronavirus, I’m not comfortable with our kids sharing their toys”? Why couldn’t I walk over to the girls’ mom and explain that I don’t feel safe with her children tossing our Frisbees? What messages were Brandon and I sending to our kids, to ourselves, about how to stay safe during the pandemic?
I didn’t pause to ask. Instead, upon hearing Lily’s confession, I called Brandon over, and quietly repeated what Lily had said.
“It’s time for baths,” he announced to the kids as he packed up our Frisbees, balls and blankets.
“It was nice to meet you, girls,” I said, as I ushered our boys toward the nearest hand sanitizing dispenser.
As soon as we entered the condo, I washed my hands and put all three boys in the bath. Brandon hosed down the Frisbees and set them outside in the sun to burn off any remaining viral cells. Then I stewed about how I could have handled the situation differently.
When our kids fail to pick up their clothes before heading down the stairs, or say something off-color when they’re asked to do a chore, I orchestrate an opportunity for a “do-over” — that’s what I wanted now. The chance for a re-do. After all, this vacation was our first foray into the real world after we went on lockdown in mid-March.
Two weeks later, the universe answered my call while we were at a beachside campground tucked away on a forgotten piece of the coast. While Brandon and the boys jumped waves, a mom nearby asked if her son could borrow one of our boogie boards.
I thought about our boys and my 76-year-old mom. I thought about this woman’s child and the greater good. But mostly, I thought about what it means to be responsible, even when it’s uncomfortable.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I don’t think it’s safe for our kids to share during the pandemic.”
Turning down her request still felt bizarre, but I knew it was the right play. The rules have changed on a worldwide scale and it was time for me to up my parenting game.
