Even if I don’t like you, I did this

It’s been a busy semester, and as we skip into the holidays, a few of us planned to meet for breakfast in Cromwell. It was a miracle that we found a date that worked, but then one of us emailed the group and asked for a change of venue. Given the rising positivity rates for COVID in Connecticut, could we meet via Zoom instead? The emailer wasn’t comfortable eating inside right now.

I am not sure what the protocol is for this. Does one actually eat breakfast while on the Zoom call? Or is it better to eat early and spend the Zoom call nursing a cup of coffee?

By the time you read this, I will have it figured out. I’m not squawking. When someone wants to play it safe during a pandemic, I am firmly on board. At times, I’ve been that someone. I’ve lost track of how many events and family gatherings I’ve backed out of while awaiting the results of a COVID test. I do not know the medical history of everyone with whom I come into contact, so if someone is masking while outdoors, well, I’m not, but I will if they ask me to. It costs me nothing.

So, in that spirit of community, as I ponder what to get the grandchildren for Christmas, please know that I went ahead and picked up a little something for you.

It goes with everything and no matter what rocky moments you and I have shared this year, I got it for you because I do not want to work our way through the Greek alphabet. Omicron is far enough.

Besides, those rocky moments don’t matter right now. Who you voted for, where you worship (or not), what kind of car you drive or sandwich you eat, none of that is important. What matters is that we’re heading into what could be another bleak winter unless we take steps to avoid it.

So, just before our COVID rate started rising (again), I got my third COVID vaccine. You’re welcome.

(We aren’t calling them boosters anymore, because science tells us that this far out from our first goround, we need another shot.)

(People who study the miscommunication that has dogged this pandemic also tell us not to call it a “shot,” but it was a needle that pinched a little when it went into my arm. Let’s not be precious. It was a shot.)

I got the shot for several reasons. Namely:

I got the shot because if something is going to kill me, it won’t be an illness that is imminently preventable. It will be something out of the blue, like a piano falling from the sky, something I don’t even know how to begin to prepare for, and so there will be no “if-onlys” at my funeral. It was a piano. It couldn’t be helped.

I got the shot because I don’t want to clog up my local emergency room. In fact, this vaccine will allow me to skip the hospital altogether, thus clearing the way for people who need heart surgery or other urgent medical care that has nothing to do with the virus.

I got the shot because I am not the center of the universe and could never form my mouth around the words “my rights” when it comes to a public health crisis. I got the shot because I do not have the right to risk your health.

I got the shot because even if I don’t much like you, I do not want to make you sick — and if you’re unvaccinated, count on one of the virus variants to come calling. I hope that’s not the case, but probability looks at hope and breaks out laughing. That’s you, Neighborhood Gun Nut with the “Impeach Biden” sign on your fence. And you, Ms. Science-Denying #UnmaskOurKids PTA-Meeting-Disrupter. And you, Pretend Soldier in the Fake War on Christmas. I don’t understand you even a little bit and I’ve given up trying, but I’d like you to stick around if for no other reason than someone in your life does like you and would miss you if you’re gone.

And finally, I got the shot because the religion of my youth — the angry little kernel of Christianity known as fundamentalism — tells me to look out for my neighbor, and I was taught to define “neighbor” fairly broadly. I have abandoned a lot of that faith’s other dogma, but that part still makes sense to me.

Ah, but this is not a sermon, and you most likely don’t need salvation. So I’ll end with this: At my age, I have all that I need and I don’t ask for presents, but if you’d like to reciprocate and maybe get the shot yourself, that would be the best gift of all.

Susan Campbell is the author of “Frog Hollow: Stories from an American Neighborhood,” “Tempest-Tossed: The Spirit of Isabella Beecher Hooker” and “Dating Jesus: A Story of Fundamentalism, Feminism and the American Girl.” She is Distinguished Lecturer at the University of New Haven, where she teaches journalism.