I read that nearly 30% of Americans have received at least one dose of COVID-19 vaccine, predominantly those with compromised immune systems and seniors.
However, the CDC is raising the alarm about those who haven’t been inoculated: younger Americans, especially those who are engaging in a less than responsible manner (spring break), and those who refuse to have the vaccine. There is the very real concern that just as we’re inching back towards normalcy we could experience more surges of infection that will put us well past the current 550,000 deaths.
Look, you young whippersnappers, rug rats, germ hounds and curtain climbers, if you’re hell-bent on culling your own herd, fine — that’s your business. You’re going to make your momma cry and your friends shake their heads, but it really is your business and luckily for the rest of us, we’re protected from you — so far.
But we’d sorta like to keep you around, you know? We like your youthful energy. Twerking in an XXL thong at Panama City? Not so much. Yet we love you, you’re the future of this country and despite the homeschooling you’ve been receiving from neurotic parents who have been imbibing heavily during this pandemic, you will become tomorrow’s leaders. And look: yes, more than likely you’d blow right through an infection with a mild case, but do Aunty Pam a little favor and go to the google machine and research the recent data of those who’ve had mild cases that, out of the blue several months later, develop serious side effects: heart and lung damage, vision, dental issues...
I hear ya: “We all gotta die of something! I could get hit by a bus tomorrow.”
Right. But maybe if your heart and lungs were functioning normally, you’d have been able to run to get out of the way of that bus, Biff.
It got me thinking of a frightening hypothetical situation. What if the only age demographic that was left in America were those over 55? A shiver ran up my spine just imaging the horror. Who would pay for our Social Security? Who would fight for our country? Who would change the clock in my car twice a year?
And then on the other hand, there could be a silver lining. While we’d miss you terribly, we could, once and for all, obliterate your terrible musical tastes and reclaim the radio waves. We’d embrace actual musicianship again! That’s right, as we geriatrics begin moving into retirement communities, gone will be sing-a-longs to “You Are My Sunshine” and replaced with playing air guitar alongside Jimmy Page’s spectacular riffs and our dried, crackling voices cawing, “Waaaaaay down inside, woman, youuuuu neeeeeed me...” Imagine it: seated exercise classes keeping rhythm with the familiar hits of our day, “Paint it Black,” “Won’t Get Fooled Again,” and we’ll nod off into our tapioca pudding with “Whipping Post.”
Alright, yes, with no younger generation to take care of us, nurses and CNAs of similar ages will forget where they put our meds and when we were last fed, but with the right music, even that’s manageable.
When we’ve become comfortably numb.