Article December 10, 2001 Issue

At least I wasn't wearing a face mask

By Madora Kibbe

So There I Was, opening the family's mail in less than my usual fashion. I was standing outdoors in our driveway, by the mailbox, wearing thin, disposable rubber gloves, a wastebasket at my side—throwing out every piece of junk mail without even bothering to open it. Well, that last part is my usual fashion. But the gloves and the outdoor setting—no. (At least I wasn't wearing a face mask.)

My son walked over to me. He patted me on the shoulder, shook his head, and said, "Mom, I think you're taking this anthrax thing a little too seriously."

OK, so maybe he had a point. But in the news department, things had gotten kind of scary. And living so close to New York City, I felt I had to take precautions. But what impressed me in that moment, and also made me feel a little foolish, was how fearless my son was. Not just because he loves opening the mail. He seemed to know intuitively what the 91st Psalm has told millions of people for thousands of years: "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." But the best part about what he said to me was that it made me laugh. And laughing made me feel less fearful.

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