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I’m feeling unsettled. Earlier today, I visited a gas station outside my town, wearing my mask. Of the seven people inside, only one older man shared my precaution. While no one directly confronted me, the judgment was palpable—heavy air thick with unspoken disdain and a lack of eye contact. No smiles were exchanged, only averted gazes.
As I left, a boy around ten years old taunted me with a “Baa Baa” as I passed. Unsure if I had misheard, I turned to him and asked, “Excuse me?” He repeated it. I took a moment to explain that his words were inappropriate. I shared that, despite being fully vaccinated, my son has severe health issues, and we must be cautious. I said, “You never know someone’s story; there’s no reason to mock anyone for their choices.”
The child rolled his eyes and walked away as his mother approached. I shook my head in a gesture of warning, and she pretended to search her car. I sensed she felt my frustration from a distance.
If a ten-year-old feels empowered to insult an adult, what kind of remarks does he direct at his peers? Throughout the day, I received messages from friends in the special-needs community, expressing concern for their children who have been teased for wearing masks, which they see as a personal choice.
One friend’s daughter faced a horrifying experience—her mask was torn off, stomped on, and thrown away. Her sister, who is homeschooled and undergoing chemotherapy, has been deeply affected as well. This situation escalated, but it highlights how many children, fearing bullying, may choose to hide their masks instead. My friend’s daughter has now switched to virtual schooling, heartbroken at missing her final weeks of middle school. Meanwhile, her sister grapples with the feeling that her illness is a burden on others.
With less than two weeks left in the school year for many kids, and the majority not yet eligible for vaccination, my own daughter faced a heartbreaking dilemma. After new guidance from the Iowa Department Of Public Health, our school district lifted the mask mandate. She came to me in tears, saying, “I can’t go back. I’m not fully vaccinated, and I’m afraid I’ll bring it home and put AJ in danger.”
Is that an extreme reaction? Perhaps. But she has witnessed the toll that even a common cold can take on her brother’s health. Her fears are entirely valid.
This year has been tough for her with virtual learning. She often feels invisible and disconnected. Though she is gifted, she’s barely achieving satisfactory grades. To prevent her from falling behind, we’re paying for tutoring, all because she fears for her brother’s health.
Just when we thought she could return to school safely, with vaccinations and precautions in place, she had to choose between her education and the potential guilt of making her brother ill. Not because we would blame her, but because she might blame herself.
At twelve, she shouldn’t have to shoulder such weighty thoughts or wonder why others can’t simply help protect her brother. “It’s just a mask—it’s not like they’re hard to wear!” she said.
My son, who has significant health challenges, repeated preschool this year for social skill development. He was just beginning to socialize during recess. Now, with upcoming medical procedures and the risk of illness, he won’t have that chance.
The CDC still recommends mask-wearing in schools, yet the IDPH changed the guidelines at the last minute, driven by political motives. This isn’t about freedom; it’s about disregarding the safety of our vulnerable children.
Politicians who prioritize this issue over more pressing legislation, like mental health support for children, should be held accountable. If they truly cared about our kids’ mental health, they would focus on bills aimed at providing support and preventing suicide among youth.
For those suggesting we should just stay home if we feel vulnerable, it’s not that simple. Our legislature has stripped away unemployment support and made it nearly impossible for families to make safe choices without jeopardizing their mental and financial health. All for the sake of appeasing a few.
Who are our lawmakers protecting with these decisions? Certainly not Iowa’s most vulnerable children, who need our protection the most. It often seems they cater to the radical fringe.
I usually refrain from discussing politics, but advocating for my family compels me to speak out. November 8, 2022, cannot arrive soon enough.
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Summary
The author shares a distressing personal experience involving anti-mask bullying, emphasizing the psychological and emotional impact on children, especially those with medical vulnerabilities. The narrative critiques recent political decisions surrounding mask mandates, arguing that they endanger the health of vulnerable children and fail to address essential mental health needs. The piece calls for greater awareness and advocacy for families facing these challenges.