You are not my boss!

Most of the people who read my column aren’t from Missouri, the Show-me State, but they are from Texas where we pride ourselves on an intelligent refusal to be bullied into anything. We don’t like to be told what to wear, to eat, to watch, or to support. Back in the day we didn’t like being required to buy liability insurance for our cars, and many really balked back in the 1960s when we had to have seatbelts installed in our cars. We are a tough bunch of people who, because we live in God’s Country, are pretty sure we know what’s best for us.

So, it is not a surprise that during this time of rapid insurgence of the Corona Virus, we are shocked that here in the Heartland, our hospitals are filling up, our football games are cancelled, and our children are being sent back home for remote learning.

It’s a delicate balance. We walk the line between the freedoms that make us Americans and a necessity to do what must be done to curb the numbers. If we lived in some dictatorship where the government controlled our economy, our schools, and our lives, we might be told to “stay home,” “wear a mask,” or “stay out of public gatherings.” However, we cut our teeth on free enterprise. Every young person in America dreams of owning his own business, being his own boss, and being better than past generations. We don’t like to lose. However, when a tiny organism takes over and makes decisions for us, we rebel. Sometimes the way we take back control is small. We insist on going to that wedding for our niece. We attend that football game where our child is playing his last high school game. We go to church because we need “the community of God’s people.” I know. I’m hurting right along with you. One of my biggest joys is singing in the church choir … and yet that is probably one of the most dangerous activities in which we can participate. We are tired of being good.

When the kids didn’t go back the week after Spring Break, it put a strain on mothers and fathers who had to re-arrange their schedules to cover babysitting and such. But we thought it would only be a couple of weeks. It’s been about nine months, and “Rona” has reared her ugly head again, and our friends and family are dying.

I don’t own a restaurant or work in a store, so I’m not afraid of missing a paycheck or being evicted. I can see why these people are so desperate to open their businesses, go to work, and get back to living. The holidays are coming, and Santa Claus is not coming down the chimney, the wolf is at the door. We pray for patience. We pray for a quick vaccine. We pray for our old way of life.

As a Texan, born and raised, a grandchild of rebels, a proud daughter of protestors and a sister of soldiers, I don’t like being told what to do, either. However, we know that through adversity, we step up, grow stronger, learn to cope, and join the fight for what is right.

Now, we strong-willed Texans find ourselves facing an enemy that will not back down, a bully that cannot be intimidated, and an evil that must be eradicated. Soon, … very soon we hope, the vaccine will come, we’ll step up like our forefathers did against Polio and Smallpox, and we will show Covid 19 what we are made of. Until then … please … wear your mask.