What is your panniversary moment?
You know, the moment that is branded on your brain as the single moment you realized this whole coronavirus things was real, and bad, and about to change our lives in a dramatic way. For many people, that moment came a little over a year ago when the crisis came to North America in full force, hence the term panniversary.
It seems that everyone you talk to has a panniversary moment. Some are funny, some are odd, and many are unbearably sad. A lot of them are similar, often revolving around the first pandemic-style trip to the grocery store, including the strange sight of panicked checkout lines winding out the front door and around the block, or the even stranger sight of an empty toilet paper aisle. Seriously TP hoarders, did you have better butt years than the rest of us?
The grocery store moment happened to my family. At the start of “that weekend when the world changed,” I got up early to pick up a few supplies for a birthday party (LOL, remember those?) and like a dummie I brought my kids. I thought it’d be OK because it was like 7:20 in the morning, but nope – it was complete coronavirus chaos in there. We took one look at the massive zombie lines and ran out – my kids haven’t been inside a grocery store with me since. Poor dears.
For many others, particularly sports fans, the panniversary moment came on March 11 when a prominent NBA player tested positive for COVID-19. I was set to watch some hoops on TV that night and instead watched the NBA become the first North American pro league to go into full shutdown mode. I called my wife, who was out that night, and told her she needed to get home right away, after picking up some essential supplies. A couple beers? she asked. LOL, I said. A couple hundred.
Neither of those, however, were the moment. My moment was much more painful. The night after the NBA shut down I took one of my kids to a soccer tryout (LOL, remember that – a bunch of kids together on a soccer field?). We pulled up, and then I slammed my fingertip in my car door. Like, demolished it (the fingertip, I mean – the car door was unharmed except for a small speck of blood). I can still hear the “crunch.”
After that I walked up to the field, got my son checked in, started chatting with a friend, and then almost passed out. I was near a rec centre so I bled my way over there, got it taped up by a lifeguard beside a packed swimming pool (LOL, remember those?), and then sat there for the next 90 minutes watching my son play some great soccer. He earned a big high-four that night.
I didn’t got to the ER because ... you know. But the next day I did go to a clinic to get it checked out, and it was packed with dozens of people who had colds and flus and were afraid that they were about to die. I sat there for 20 minutes, becoming less concerned about my still throbbing finger and more concerned about the growing congregation of the ill, and then I just got up and left.
Since then the finger has been a strangely apt metaphor for our broken down world. There was intense shock followed by several weeks of fear and pain coupled with a feeling of utter uselessness. Oh, and no showers.
Then there was a long period when it was gingerly reintroduced to things it had been doing naturally all its life – can we pick up a towel? – with lots of trepidation and over-protecting and failure and worry. Then in the summer it cautiously threw a baseball around for a few weeks, then it basically got shut down again.
Now? It can do a lot of the things it’s always done – look who can tie his own shoes like a big boy! – but I’m resigned to the fact that it will still be a bit messed up for a while longer, and am certain that it will never be quite the same as it was before.
That’s my panniversary moment, and I know I’m lucky – so many have had it much, much worse than me over the past year. It’s almost comforting to have that finger crookedkly pointing back to the start of all this. I’m reminded of what we’ve gone through every time I try to open a jar of pickles. And I don’t think we should forget. If you haven’t thought of your moment, give it a try, and then tell someone. Heck, you can tell me if you like, shoot me an email or a social media comment. I could even try replying, although I could be a bit slow. You know ... the finger.
Anyway, Happy Panniversary everyone. Let’s hope we never have another.
