Zorro wore a mask to hide his identity.
The ruse let him flounce amongst his Spanish brethern while he plotted to undermine their corrupt administration of California.
The Lone Ranger wore a mask. The back story was to hide his identity while he burnished his do-gooder image. I have never found that explanation very satisfying because he usually arrived as a stranger in town with each new episode. Not every bit of fiction has to make sense.
But I am neither Zorro nor The Lone Ranger. However, I am masked. At least, when I escape the walls of the house with no name and visit populated places.
Let me confess that I am a recent convert to The Order of the Masked. For months, I have worn a bandanna over my face whenever I was in a store or where someone required me to wear it.
Last week I was talking with a Canadian friend who had admitted she did not wear a mask very often. "It is not logical. I know I should wear a mask, but every time I read one of those morally smug posts on Facebook about masks written by some mythical virologist or nurse or OSHA inspector, all I hear is my first husband's voice trying to control everything I do."
The fellow at the next table in the restaurant, chimed in: "Or my first wife."
I tend to be contrarian. It is an aspect of my personality that I deal with daily. But the first husband/wife metaphor had never occurred to me. But I know exactly what they mean. And after they mentioned it, I see it in many posts.
A lot of what I read on Facebook these days has a certain bludgeoning bullyishness about it. For some people, that approach is not the least bit persuasive. In fact, it often elicits the opposite reaction. Calling someone stupid is usually not the best approach to winning them over to your team.
I am not very fond of masks. They are uncomfortable. The more I sweat, the more claustrophobic I feel. But I have suffered far worse discomforts in my life (like listening to life insurance pitches) -- and I have survived.
Then there are the practical problems. I am now of a certain age that I need my glasses to read. If I am wearing a mask and put on my glasses to read labels in a font that even an 8-year old would be challenged to read, my glasses immediately fog up with the breath escaping from my mask. It s a bit like driving in a San Joaquin Valley fog.
There is also the social slight that comes from mask-wearing. I was shopping in Hawaii last week when three separate people greeted me. All three were wearing masks, and their voices were scrambled like witnesses at a Congressional hearing because of the fabric covering their mouths. I had no idea who they were. A bit of facial strip-tease solved the mystery.
I bet you think, after whinging about the small discomforts of wearing a mask, I am going to now weigh the known benefits. That would be my usual lawyerly approach. And I almost did that.
But I decided not to. For two reasons. First, you know them all. And, second, they are not the reason I am now wearing a mask.
My recent "head cold" was something of an eye-opener for me. Or, logic opener. Even while maintaining social distancing, wearing my mask in public, and staying at home for a vast majority of my day, I contracted the virus that caused whatever I had. The SARS-COV2 virus is spread very similar to the common cold virus (another coronavirus).
Someone once said that logic is the beginning of wisdom, not the end. And it was not mere logic that has led me to be amongst The Mask-wearers.
When I was growing up, my parents taught me to hold the door open for people, to be on time, and to make my bed when a guest in someone's home. None of those things are particularly logical. But we do them because we are polite.
Wearing a mask is like writing thank-you notes. It is the polite thing to do.
For some, masks have turned into a social symbol. I understand that. But this particular hill is probably not the one you want to choose to die on. Literally.
Best of all, it it going to please your Dad and Mom to see that you learned your manners well.
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