The exhausted dad: Reign of a social distancing champion

We first learned about COVID in early 2020. Some of y’all caught that bug early on, and, unfortunately, you might have dealt with it a few times by now.

For all that time, up through January 2023, I was a social distancing champion. Yes, for nearly three years, I never officially contracted COVID. Maybe it happened in those early days when we didn’t have readily available tests, but otherwise, I’ve only ever seen a single line on the test strip.

At various points of the pandemic, my loved ones rewarded me with tribute. My dad bought me a “Social Distance Champion” sweatshirt with Bigfoot on it. My wife followed that up months later with a similarly-themed pint glass.

I’m not bragging. Really. I’m just shocked. I live with four children. I can’t keep the house completely sterile. Believe me, I tried.

I went back to school this fall. I wore a mask for a few days but eventually succumbed to the peer pressure. My kids went to school maskless anyway. If anything, I needed to wear a mask around them at home.

And I did. Often. Two of my kids caught COVID in September, and I recommitted to my tried-and-true Social Distance strategies. Masks for everyone! Rigorous handwashing! Probably way too much Vitamin C!

Something miraculous happened. I didn’t get COVID. Another victory.

Then finals rolled around in December. I heard whispers and rumors of a nasty bug plowing through my classmates. I couldn’t get sick for finals! I hadn’t been in college for almost 20 years! I already have parenting-induced brain fog!

Another miracle. No COVID for finals.

Then came holiday break. Everyone in the house got sick with… well, everything except COVID. It was a very merry, snotty Christmas.

One week into the spring semester, my 5-year-old son came home from school with the sniffles. Not that unusual, and his 99-degree temperature was laughable compared to that 104 he popped over holiday break.

At bedtime, my son’s nose sounded super-congested, so I told him to blow some gunk out into a tissue. He burst into tears.

“But I don’t know how to blow my nose!”

He’s so sweet I couldn’t NOT help him. So I sat in front of him, inches from his face and showed him how I push air out through my nose after a deep breath. Then I told him to practice pushing air out through his nose. Over and over. Without a tissue. With me, sitting inches from his face.

The next morning, he tested positive for COVID.

With a scratchy throat of my own and the somber sense that my reign as Social Distance Champion would soon be coming to an end, I took a COVID test. One line. Negative.

I AM A CHAMPION. Quick, contact the CDC, because I think my blood holds the key to lifetime COVID immunity.

The next morning my sore throat morphed into fire throat and my body ached like never before. I took another COVID test.

Two lines instantly. Positive. I’ve lost the throne.

It’s been seven days since that fateful test. I missed a week of school and still feel lousy. Going up the stairs in my house takes EFFORT.

My son recovered from his COVID in literally two days. My 7-year-old daughter, another Social Distance Champion and COVID newbie, popped a positive test one day after me. She had a runny nose for two days and then tested negative. Good for her, but NO FAIR!

I’ve had some days to reflect on my almost three-year zero COVID run (technically more successful than China’s zero-COVID policy… just sayin’). Two major takeaways: 1) COVID is no joke. In fact, it sucks. Big time. And 2) I’m so grateful to all the health care workers and teachers and front-line workers who were helping to make the pandemic safer and easier to manage for the rest of us… all while also getting sick with this nasty virus.

If you haven’t had COVID, or you haven’t had it in a while, I’m told you should be aware of this “kraken” variant, which is apparently super infectious. I can’t speak to that. I voluntarily allowed a COVID-infected child to spray snot directly in my face. Whatever was in his nose, I got it.

It felt good to be the king. Like many champions before me, however, I believed my power was impenetrable. Immune to downfall. But I flew too close to the sun. Or too close to a kindergartner’s nose anyway.

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Tyler Wilson is a freelance writer, full-time student and parent to four kids, ages 5-11. He is tired. He can be reached at twilson@cdapress.com.