“You must be new around here,” a mother remarked as I watched my toddler slide down with glee. My outfit was nothing unusual—just a casual t-shirt and leggings, similar to her baseball cap and yoga pants. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel her comment might stem from my biracial son’s darker skin tone.
Truth be told, I had only driven a mere seven minutes from my home to this beloved playground on Coronado, known as “the jewel of San Diego.” The view from the climbing structure is stunning, with the bay stretching around downtown and boats gliding across the glimmering water. It was a Friday morning, my day off, and as I scaled the structure with my son, I took a moment to appreciate the fresh air and warm sunshine, momentarily forgetting about the pandemic that had confined my family for nearly ten months. The playground was my little slice of freedom… or so I thought.
“Why are you wearing a mask?” she questioned, snapping me back to reality. “People around here don’t wear them.”
I was astounded. She had come to the playground as early as possible just to avoid the “regulars” who frequented this place in their trendy Lululemon gear, pushing their UPPaBaby strollers, coffee in hand, and masked-free.
Playgrounds in Southern California had been off-limits for months due to COVID. My family of five adhered to the city’s guidelines from the start, managing to navigate sheltering in place with three young kids in a small 900-square-foot home. Now that the playgrounds were reopened, the caution tape had been removed, and two sandwich board signs at the entrance clearly stated the rules. The first rule? “Everyone over the age of 2 must wear a mask.” My five-year-old reluctantly complied, while my two-year-old would wear his if incentivized with a fruit snack.
A week later, I returned to my favorite spot only to find it busier than usual. It was 10:30 a.m., so I masked up myself and my child and headed toward the sandbox. Five mothers surrounded a dozen children, all impeccably dressed in trendy mini outfits. Yet, not a single one of them wore a mask. The “locals” had taken over.
“Do you all have your masks?” I inquired cheerfully, only to be met with blank stares. One mom seemed perplexed by my presence.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“It’s a requirement for the playground,” I answered.
“Oh, we didn’t know,” she chuckled dismissively.
Didn’t know? I struggled to comprehend whether she was lying or just being rude.
“There’s a sign right there,” I pointed out, just a couple of feet from the entrance. “It’s a city requirement.”
“Well, we’ll keep away from you,” she retorted, her tone sharp, rolling her eyes. I wasn’t there to make friends nor was I interested in their exclusionary attitude; I was merely trying to adhere to the guidelines intended to protect our community.
Regrettably, this wasn’t my first or last confrontation regarding masks at the playground. There seems to be a prevailing sense of entitlement among some parents—an attitude of “I can do as I please.” To promote safety and harmony, I now carry a pack of disposable masks in case parents claim they “didn’t know” or “forgot.” While most times my offer is met with eye rolls, I stand firm in my belief that wearing a mask is not just about my family’s safety, but about the health of the entire community. We are in the midst of a global health crisis, and COVID doesn’t discriminate based on neighborhood.
Perhaps I am conflating privilege with entitlement, but it feels justified. To those who disregard the rules, I suggest you cover your smug face with a mask because your privilege is showing, and it’s not flattering.
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Summary
The author recounts a confrontation at a San Diego playground with a group of mothers who were not wearing masks, despite local regulations. This experience highlights a sense of entitlement among some parents during the pandemic. The author, who follows safety guidelines with her children, reflects on the challenges of maintaining safety in shared spaces and the importance of community responsibility.