Category: 2020-March

I tell a lot of stories in my class. That’s not a surprise to anybody and everybody in my life. I can talk. Sometimes, I should speak less. I’ll work on it.

Earlier this year, one of my students wrote a note at the bottom of an assignment. “I can’t imagine living through all the stuff you’ve been through.”

Time for a conference.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know… 9/11. The space shuttle explosion. Watergate. New Coke. Watching the KKK march in the streets. AIDS.”

While tragic, I don’t think we should put the New Coke fiasco in the same realm as September 11^th and the AIDS epidemic. It was a charming conversation. The innocence of youth.

I’ve given a lot of thought to that student’s words.

My mother retired from teaching. Sometime. I don’t remember the year. Big party. Tears. Laughter. Songs. Several former students returned. Too many people spoke. Nobody called the police, but I thought it was a possibility.

Something wasn’t quite right. The mood was off, just a bit, but I didn’t know why.

It finally ended. Finally. A long day’s journey into night. I filled the car with flowers and cards and gifts. The official departure hugging line circled the room too many times. I knew we were nowhere close to being done.

The souls holding down the end of the line belonged to familiar faces. Gretchen. Terry. A few others.

One of the “others” was one of my mother’s all-time favorites. She had returned to Winston-Salem especially for the moment. She was standing alone, well behind everybody else.

That was it. That girl-woman-lady had AWAYS picked with me. We talked trash on every occasion. We had been in the same room for hours, and she had not said a word. No hug. No kiss on the cheek.

She was beautiful, as she always was. Her outfit immaculate. Makeup perfect.

Something wasn’t right. I left her alone. I joined the line with Gretchen and Terry as Margaret bid farewell to the last few.

Finally, there were three in the room. Me. Margaret. And her.

My mother, while independent and free-spirited, was never indifferent to one of her children.

I knew better than to speak. An unusual moment, but my mouth remained shut.

“What’s wrong?”

The tears began. This wasn’t regular crying. This was soul-wrenching despair. I was unsettled. She collapsed into my mama’s arms.

I watched. And listened. She explained.

HIV positive. This was in the time when HIV was practically a death sentence, AIDS a specter on the very near horizon.

We didn’t really know how the virus was spread. Stay away. Don’t touch.

The three of us sat in that hotel ballroom for what felt like hours. It was time to go. My mother was sure a doctor could help. A smart physician. A compassionate human being.

I kept thinking about the time one of my mother’s students had come to our home and sat on our couch while telling us that she had contracted a sexually transmitted disease. After she left, my mother sprayed the entire house with Lysol.

How were we going to say goodbye this time? I didn’t want AIDS. I didn’t want my mama to get AIDS.

We walked to the parking lot. I looked at the girl-woman-lady. Her eyes were the loneliest eyes I’d ever seen. Abject desolation and isolation. I didn’t know what to do.

My mother hugged her and brushed her hair out of her eyes.

My turn. What. The. Hell. Really, mother?

I hugged the girl-woman-lady with everything I had. Both arms. I picked her up. A bear hug. I kissed her on the cheek.

“Love you.”

“But I am giving you a new command. You must love each other, just as I have loved you.” – John 13:34

It was brief. A moment. It mattered. I think the realization she was not alone made all the difference.

It’s been years. The girl-woman-lady is well. She is loved.

Interesting. The Coronavirus is here. It’s a part of life. COVID-19. The Griffin Family has not, is not and will not be a part of the widespread panic sending tentacles across every hill and valley.

The world is divided. Half of us are acting like we’re fighting to survive the plague during the middle ages. The other half is balancing on a canyon edge while daring to capture the ultimate selfie without tumbling to the desert floor.

Everybody, stop.

Where is the common sense? Where is the good judgment? More often than not, I avoid “the middle.” Choose a side. Show class. Have character. Be passionate.

Mr. Miyagi was right. “Walk right side, safe. Walk left side, safe. Walk middle… sooner or later you get squish like grape.”

Indeed.

I have published several Facebook posts related to the Coronavirus and the subsequent fallout. Some of the responses to my posts have been more than a little surprising. Oh well. I have no control over how other people choose to react.

In an effort to keep everybody on the same page, I’ll review. The virus is serious. It can be fatal. For most people (not all, but most,) the virus is not critical. I have no doubt that some folks will go off the deep end and the soap box preaching will commence.

I disagreed with the decision to suspend the ACC Tournament. Here’s why: IF folks don’t feel good, I think they should stay home. IF someone is immunocompromised, I think they should stay home. IF people haven’t learned to wash hands and cover mouths when coughing, I think they should stay home.

I predicted the financial loss would be approximately $20,000,000 if the tournament was canceled mid-stream. The official estimate was $18 million. That’s a pretty good guess. Way to go, Jeffrey.

I disagreed with the subsequent cancellations or suspensions of March Madness, NCAA spring sports, the NBA, Major League Baseball, the NHL, the PGA and whatever else I may have missed.

Some folks will say, “people are dying!” That’s true and it’s tragic. People die every day. I don’t wish anyone dead. More importantly, I don’t wish anyone poor health. Contrary to popular opinion, there are a great many things worse than death.

I expect folks to make good decisions and wise choices, given their respective life situations. People… do what is best for you and yours.

I am also deeply concerned about the financial ramifications that will likely linger far longer than the actual virus. We must find balance. No, money is not of greater worth than a life. But, it does matter. Decisions must be made with prudence and an appreciation for the long-term repercussions.

It is a fine line. Walking the line is what leaders do. Wisdom cannot be purchased.

Leaders are able, and expected, to access the myriad of available resources before identifying the best path forward. This is why governors and presidents have cabinet members. This is why commissioners and administrators employ assistants. This is why we reach out to those who may be more knowledgeable than we are.

It comes to this: Jeffrey Griffin doesn’t have a vote. I have an opinion. John Swofford didn’t call me before he canceled the tournament. Mark Emmert didn’t text before he banished the NCAA season. Roy Cooper didn’t ask for my input before shutting down the schools for two weeks. Angela Hairston didn’t need my permission prior to designating workdays for Winston-Salem teachers. The church leadership didn’t ask the congregation to vote on whether to hold Sunday services.

Those folks are in charge. I am not. Amazing how some individuals so easily confuse responsibility with opinion.

There also comes a moment when decisions are made. Like it or leave it, the folks in charge have done what they think is best. Alright.

I don’t agree with every decision that has been made in the face of the Coronavirus pandemic.

Common sense and good judgment have been cast aside… in my opinion. Way, way, way too many people are in full panic mode. I’m not worried. This, too, shall pass.

Right or wrong, leaders are not afforded that same grace. We expect them to choose wisely. We encourage them to speak peacefully. We hope they have listened to those entrusted with providing counsel.

Objections are birthed when a leader disregards the parameters that have been established by those sitting higher on the corporate totem pole.

Take, for example, the decision about schools. Governor Cooper decided to close the schools. That’s his call. The Winston-Salem/Forsyth County school system decided to counter that act and order teachers (and other staff members) to school for the first three days of the week. I find the local decision to be in opposition to the executive order. For me, that’s problematic. Schools are safe or they’re not.

We are walking in the middle and sooner or later…squish like grape.

A final thought. I expect the individuals in charge to be well-prepared. I expect the individuals to speak honestly.

I don’t blame President Trump for the Coronavirus. Anybody who does, is ridiculous and should be relegated to self-quarantine. I do, however, hold him accountable for the lack of preparation on a national level. Anybody with a lick of sense had to know the virus would land in America. The ferocity with which it has exponentially multiplied may have been unexpected. I can buy that. Assigning a career politician with no previous experience the task of coordinating a national response was foolish. Mitigating information from reliable medical sources like the CDC was childish. Dismissing recommendations from knowledgeable authorities is irresponsible. Speaking untruthfully is unacceptable.

On nearly every level, there is abundant evidence proving an undeniable lack of preparation. It is not difficult to know when plans are not in place. It is not difficult to recognize when preparations have not been made.

The panic grows. Excuses are offered. Accusations are hurled. Responsibility and accountability are redirected.

I feel like Kevin Bacon’s character in ANIMAL HOUSE. He stands on the sidewalk before a swarming melee, hands in the air while shouting, “Remain calm! All is well!”

If that doesn’t resonate, it’s exactly like standing on a beach while hollering at the waves, “Stop!”

Sadly, we learn that friends, or those we believe to be friends, are frequently among the first to correct, chastise and condemn.

Many comments. One of the few to which I have surrendered a second thought was this, “I urge you to rethink your position. You are more influential than you may know.”

That got my attention. Maybe I was wrong. I have that luxury. I am not the commissioner nor the governor nor the president nor the superintendent.

I expect them to get it right. If they can’t, or won’t, then tell me the truth. Common sense. Good judgment. I don’t think that is too much to ask.