Faceless

Last night after dinner, Brad tried on his mask. I’d made it out of charcoal grey cotton yarn, and attached a coffee filter with safety pins. Not the best solution, I know, but as a home crafter, this was the material I had on hand.

Charley leaned in to get a better look. “Daaaad, what dat?”

“I’ve got one for me too,” I said, holding up my pink one. “What color do you want, Son?”

Charley kind of chuckled.

“Why?”

“Why dat mask?”

“Because it’s ninja week.” I said. Everyone is wearing a mask these days, at least for now. You see, there’s this horrible virus, and we have to wear face masks to protect ourselves and others.”

“Mo-ommmmm, come on.”

I asked if he wanted to try it on. 

Nope.

I placed the yarn on the table and encouraged him to pick a color.

“I fine, Mom,” he said.

“Are you sure? I’ve got black - it’s your favorite.”

“Mo-om.”

I explained to him that he could not leave the house without a mask.

Brad pointed to his mask, role modeling, encouraging Charley to do the same.

“Look Charley, it’s Sermon Man,” I said, attempting to lighten the tone, using his own words…Sermon Man has been a long-time nickname used by our son on Sundays.

He glared at me. “You said mask is bad.”

He was right.

The last time he had a mask was when we lived in West Virginia. Charley was eleven then and thought having a mask and a hat turned him into The Mask of Zorro, which wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t jumped out the second floor window thinking he'd land on Tornado, Zorro’s trusty horse.

Luckily, the railing on the deck below broke his fall, and he didn’t break his body. I made a big deal out of putting the mask, the cape, and hat - all into the garbage. “Say goodbye to this,” I said, “Masks are bad. You will never wear a mask again. Not on my watch.”

So what was I doing sitting here, crochet hook in hand, asking what color he wanted his mask to be? 

“Listen,” I said, “I know this changes things, but we are trying to comply with Government guidelines. We can make an exception, to the no-mask rule, especially if it keeps us all safe.”

Charley squinted his eyes. “I kick em,” said.

“You most certainly will not,” I said, thinking he was taking about Governor Andy Brashear. Charley watches him sometimes when we tune in at 5:00 for the Governor’s daily update.

I kick em,” he said again, then he went upstairs to his room.

A little while later he placed his nightly call to me on FaceTime. I could see him, lying on his bed, watching Batman. 

“See?” he said, “I got dis.” He pointed the camera at the tv screen where he had his DVD player hooked up. Sure enough, right there on the screen, Batman and Robin in full swing, mask and all.

POW

BAM

WHOP

“Dat mask,” he said, “Dat da weal mask.”

So you think my crocheted mask is fake?

He said, yeah, and explained in his way that a real mask would give you the power. Not like that imposter yarn stuff. Well, he didn’t say it in so many words, but I knew what he meant. I mean, let’s get real here. How could yarn give you the power?

The power.

I thought about that, and even slept on it. In my twilight, I couldn’t help but smile. 

Charley has always hero-worshipped his  superheroes. Spider Man, Superman, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Power Rangers.

Superheroes wear masks. It’s a given. Even the Lone Ranger wore a mask and thought no-one knew it was him.

The hero swoops in, kicks the problem in the rear, and just like that, the problem is solved.

How I wish this were the case.

How I wish we could just put on our masks and swoop in.

Kick the problem in the hind end.

Bake bread for our church members.

Take soup to the sick.

Fix our favorite dish for the church potluck.

Have Easter dinner with our families. Hide decorated eggs for the kids. Eat chocolate bunnies.

Gather at our local restaurants and banter with the community.

In Charley’s world, Superheroes wear masks. 

But not other people. 

Not adults.

When it comes down to it, unless it's on the face of a Superhero, Charley has always hated masks.

And why not? 

A mask hides the face. Hides the wearer. Hides the true self.

Charley finds wearing a mask absurd.

So absurd, in fact, that when I put my mask on, he said, "How rude!"

And so it is.

How rude it is, that something as faceless as a virus changes everything. How rude that fear propels even the best of us to resort to the internet as our main source of contact. To have online meetings where everyone talks over everyone, and no one hears anyone.

I’m no different than he is. I don’t like change. You know, the kind that demands we alter our routine, alter ourselves. Even our appearance. To stop being who we are, even if temporarily. It makes us feel powerless.

I don’t know about you, but I like being who I am. I like going to the store, talking to people, asking for help, providing help, being a wife, a sister, a Mom, a friend. Heck, I even like that not everyone likes me. It’s ok with me because I might not like them either. I just want to be me.

I learned all that from Charley. He sees no need to alter anything about himself. He’s just fine the way he is, thank you very much, so you goons who want to cover him with a mask can just for-get-it. 

How I wish I could take him to Walmart and let him ride around in the electric shopping cart. 

Say hi to everyone, and show his shopping haul to anyone who does and does not want to listen.

Let him pick out  Superhero movies in the five dollar bin. Fight with him over not being able to afford the new releases. No, we will have to wait till the price comes down.  

He knows that scene. But this one? This scene makes no sense to him.

People with Down Syndrome have this uncanny way of looking at the world.

There’s no faking anything and getting away with it. They always find you out.

So why? If I threw Mask of Zorro into the garbage, then how come I’m requiring him to become a ninja? 

I’m struggling. The right words elude me. 

“I’m doing this to give us the power,” I say.

“Who’s bad?” he wants to know.

“You mean who’s butt are we kicking?” 

He nods his head.

“The virus.” 

“What’s dat?”

“It’s what’s making people sick.”

“I fine,” he said. “Mom, I not sick.”

“I know you’re fine, and thank God for that. But other people are, and if we are not careful, we could get sick too.…”

“I watch my movie now,” he say.

“I crochet your mask now,” I say.

The screen goes blank.

Try explaining all this to a person who happens to have the 23rd chromosome, I double dare you. It’s abstract. Charley doesn’t do abstract. While the rest of us have all these gray areas, these things called a virus that we can’t see, and yet we can, there are these things that require us to explain until they make sense. People like my Charley are as grounded as it gets.

There is simply no way he can understand why his friend Ryan can’t come visit. Why he can’t see his friends at church. Why his friend Evelyn can’t bring him a cheeseburger and fries. Why Julie or Allison can’t come get him and take him for a joy ride.

When I was a teenager my folks would ground me when I didn’t follow the rules. And honey? When my mouth was rude, I got that extra added bonus of mouth sterilization, known as soap. Mom showed no mercy, I can tell you that. 

Now that I’m an adult, I follow the rules, as much as I can, and how about that - I’m grounded again. And so are you. And so is Charley. The big guy, grinning at me through the computer screen. “See Mom? Now that’s a mask.” 

Heaven forbid I should make him wear one of my stuck-at-home creations. Nothing sissyfied for him.

It hurts.

He thinks we are just being mean.

He wants to know why.

And so do I.

Why?

Why is this faceless mutant causing us to become paranoid that someone may have touched our stuff?

This faceless, killer, this thing that doesn’t even have a face. 

And yet, it does.

Even though we cannot see it, we see it. 

We see it in the tape on the floor that marks the 6 foot safety zones.

We see it in the shopping carts filled with items no one would ever dream of stockpiling. 

We see it in the tears of health workers. 

Business owners closing their doors. 

Friends, and family members who have lost their jobs, their loved ones.

Fear.

And yet, isn’t it ironic, that this faceless monster has done what no one has been able to do (at least not in my lifetime). It has kept us distant, and yet closer than ever. For the first time, we are all on equal footing.

You are no better than me. I am no better than you. None of us has any power over this invisible out of control cruelty.

This cruelty that demands we isolate from loved ones. Demands that we shut others out. Keep your distance or else. 

And what does that mean, anyway? Does it mean we will treat each other better when the danger lifts? We certainly have plenty of time to think about it. How will I act? How will you act?

When we get the all clear, does it mean we will run to each others arms, and never let go? Does it mean that neighbors who never gave us a nod before will all of a sudden chat over the back fence?

And what does it mean for Charley?

Why wasn’t he allowed to wear a mask before, but now all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I’m demanding that he wear one. What do you know- Mask of Zorro isn’t in the garbage after all.

Why?

“Because I I want you to be safe.”

“From who?” he asks.

“From the virus.”

“Where?” he’s looking out the window, like there’s some intruder fixing to burst through the door.

“I no see it,” he says.

“I hope you never see it, Son.”

But still, he wants to know. Demands to know, “Where is it?”

“It’s an illness, Charley, it’s  not a person.”

“Mom, I fine.”

Guess I’d best put this in language he can understand.

“The mask will give you the power,” I tell him. “Power to kick the virus in the butt. I’m making this mask for you because I love you, and that gives me the power, which means you will wear it.”

“Or what?” he says.

“Or I will kick your butt,” I say. He makes some remark under his breath and stomps up the stairs.

He’s had just about enough of this.

And so have I.