Under the new moon, the tide rose beyond its usual littoral line, edging closer to the cliffs that drop from sky to shore. On a January morning without wind, I went to witness what happens to the water when it rises; what emerges, what submerges, what is hidden, and what is revealed.
As I returned to the stairs that led from the beach to the parking lot, a young man, no more than twenty, was walking in my direction. Upon seeing me, he reached frantically for his mask before racing behind the barren shrubs that offered such little protection from the threat he perceived me to be.
Now, I am not an imposing figure. I stand so close to five feet tall that my twelve-year-old nephew will surpass me in the months to come and while I weigh more than I look, I have never used that weight to intentionally step on another being.
There were so many words that I wanted to say to him as I passed; words of comfort, words of assurance, words of safekeeping. But words failed me, just as they have failed me for this past year. Besides, what can be said when the very humanity that you believe in most is slowly being stripped from all of us only to be replaced with its opposite?
In their stead, anger and rage, to which I have never been immune, simmered to the surface. And so, I walked up the stairs, the same question echoing with each heavy step: What have we done? What have we done?
For this is no way to live. This is not life.
Had this been the first and only time that something like this has happened, it might have gone unmentioned. But since last March, I have lost count of how often this has occurred. To not speak of these unnerving instances is to avoid the dystopian reality into which humanity is now thrust, where many of the measures that have been put in place to protect us do not protect us at all, and have done far more harm than good.
It is difficult to smile in situations like this, but it is easy to understand what fear, constantly perpetuated by the mainstream media and those whose emergency powers have given way to our greatest human emergency: the loss of our humanity, might do to the psyche, especially that of impressionable young minds who are still acquiring the skills necessary to maneuver through this beautiful mess called life.
But it is not just the immediacy of these actions that must addressed, it is also the long-term effects that these lockdowns, school closures, cancelation of sports, and other social activities will have on our youth, particularly young men such as this.
Prior to the pandemic, psychologists expressed their overwhelming concerns over the ever-rising rate of suicide in young boys. These past twelve months have only brought more attention to these tragedies, with more stories of sadness and suicide emerging every day. It is enough to give anyone pause: eleven-year-olds who hang themselves, teenagers with guns, millennials who abuse drugs and alcohol because they feel defeated and have nowhere else to turn; all losses of lives taken before they were fully lived.
And now, almost a year later, and still out of school, these children, especially the boys, continue to fall further and further behind.
When, if ever, will they have the opportunity to catch up?
What will become of these children who were raised in fear?
Are they not vulnerable too?
And in their vulnerability, what will their futures hold?
Will there be a future for them at all?
As I made my way to the top of the stairs, I finally understood why it was that Holden Caufield wanted to be the catcher in the rye.
How could anyone not want to prevent this loss of innocence, to stop this fall from grace?