Does the Virus Sleep? Pandemic Conversations with a Little Boy

I'd been so used to calling my son a toddler that it'll take some getting used to maintain calling him a "little boy." No way, something tells me this will all be over in a blip. He's huge, been using the toilet easily for a few weeks, and will be four years old in a few weeks. He's no longer a toddler.

As children can be, he's full of questions. On the way to daycare when I'm listening to NPR I'm usually surprised with how well he listens. Who knew? He can pick out the word "virus" like a moth can a flame. He's been told that the virus is the reason we can't go to playgrounds anymore, for a little bit. The virus is also keeping us from hanging out with friends, or going to the beach, or heading to our favorite pizza place to sit and have dinner.

"Is the virus in your comic shop?"

I mean, I hope not, but the presence of the virus itself is not the reason that the comic shop downstairs is closed. It's complicated. We have to be alone to beat it, we have to stop it from being able to spread, and to do that, everyone has to hide in their homes.

The mighty moon-walking, genome-sequencing, solar-system-leaving Homo sapiens, finding all they can do against a microscopic enemy is run home and hide.

"Does the virus sleep?"

Nope. It doesn't sleep or eat or even have babies. See, you're made up of trillions of cells, cells make up every organ you have, like your tummy, or muscles, or brain, and even your skin. Viruses are so small that they can sneak into one of your cells. Then they find your mitochondria---that's what powers that cell---and hijack it. Instead of making fuel for your cell, the powerhouse makes copies of the virus, until the cell, packed full, bursts open, sending viruses everywhere.

Some people think that viruses aren't even alive. They just snip out a bit of RNA and replace it with their own.

"Does the virus have a mouth?"

Since they don't eat, they don't have mouths.

"Does the virus have a butt to poop out of?" (This is the funniest comment ever, apparently.)

Since they don't eat, they don't make any poop that needs a butt to pooped out of. (Until this.)

Is the reason so many white folks are having a hard time with this entire extended lockdown because it precisely is an invisible enemy, so tiny that even one of our trillions of cells dwarfs it, so dangerous that even our best weapons are meaningless against it? Are white folks really than accustomed to getting their way that being told to chill out for a few months is enough to jack them all up?

IT IS NOT INHERENTLY MALICIOUS. IT DOES NOT CARE THAT IT CREATED A PANDEMIC. IT DOES NOT UNDERSTAND WE HAVE AN ELECTION THIS YEAR, OR EVEN WHAT ELECTIONS ARE.

I had a union zoom meeting last week, for which I spent the entire time holding my daughter because of the time of day. One of the guys from the meeting was gung-ho about returning to work. Common dismissive refrains came from him: This is just like the flu, and We're all going to get it at some point, and the general ethos of many a thousand people, We have got to get back to work.

I just wanted to ask him: Are you okay with killing someone's grandma because you've got to go back to work so badly? And, bigger picture, is it morally okay to kill somebody just because you didn't know you were doing it?

There are no good answers here, folks. At a Christmas Eve party five months ago a family friend said, "Well, at least this sociopath hasn't had any true disasters to deal with." Welp, here's an opportunity to shine...

How's that working out for everyone?

George Packer nails it in his opening piece in this month's Atlantic.

Historic and colossal mismanagement is harder to discuss with a little boy than whether or not viruses are alive.

"Is the virus at Diz-nee-land?"