Call to Duty

From the Corona Files

I am slowly beginning to understand a call to duty.

Full disclosure: I am anti-nationalist, anti-militaristic. Yes, I stand for Pledge of Allegiance and respect the flag; I just don’t wave it around. Remember right after 9/11 when every house you passed down the street had a flag out front. It creeped me out. I do not believe in American exceptionalism. Friends from Norway like to remind me that their country is first in funding the UN, their students do better than ours, and that their happiness quotient is off the charts. In Sweden they have words for this kind of lifestyle where residents are relaxed and cozy—while Americans are traumatized by school shootings.

I find it hard to rally up patriotic spirit.

Except lately. I am totally committed, 100% behind what my state governor and the Chicago mayor have called for: the stay-at-home order. I wear a face mask when out in public. I social distance. It is my civic mission to help keep others alive. I have friends in my building who are post-op, in the midst of cancer treatments, who have just given birth, who need heart surgery—I do not want to do anything to complicate their health. Every new change in my behavior that can further their life, I do. It is my duty for myself, my family, my community to do the things laid out by the experts.

Down the street is Weiss Memorial Hospital. When I take my daily walk I see the ambulances pulling in and out, lights flashing and sirens blaring. I see the medical crews racing out to the bays to accept patients, suited up as if running into a barrage. They are in a fight. I do whatever I can to support them. They are doing a job they have trained for, but never expected might kill them, yet they put themselves on the line. I see their sacrifice and acknowledge it. It makes me weepy at times.

I wish I could do more.

So please, stay home.