PANDEMIC DIARY

MANATEES
January 1, 2021

Manatees are large, fully aquatic, mostly herbivorous marine mammals. They carry with them the uncomplimentary moniker of ‘sea cows’, which in this age of political correctness offends both the manatees and half the human population. What they have lost in the pantheon of God’s incredible diversity they have gained in copious measures of lovableness. It may be that when so much of everything is so very wrong that once patched together everything seems so sympathetically right. The manatees appearance immediately invokes mercy, the feeling that, like for the rest of us, life isn’t exactly fair. The manatee’s snout is huge and flattened as if it rammed into sea window. Its eyes are set on either side of its head, which assists in its seeing peripherally with acute awareness. But the manatees head is indistinguishable from its blimp-like body, so its nostrils look like where its eyes should be. Hair grows all over, so its elephantine skin looks like an all-over scalp. It moves by flapping its fins which are its legs. Or, are they legs that look like fins. In either case, its paddles are up front and struggle in dog paddle fashion to move its lagging body like a bus with the two rear wheels missing.

In all respects, manatees might be the stuff of nightmares were they in any way threatening. Yet, they are sympathetic. The original ‘gentle giants’, they are curious, friendly, and enjoy human interaction. I am reminded of Gary, a social reject in high school because of his size. Gary was a large person. Overwieght. Oh, the hell with social correctness; he was a fat boy…ginormous. Likely, in the background of his life, there was some trauma leading to an emotional blindspot, a psychological emptiness and a resulting drive to ‘fill’ himself. Whatever the cause of his enormity, Gary was sensitive and warm and trustworthy. He envied the popular kids for their social skills and wanted to be part of, if only on the periphery, a circle of friends on the “in”. But, Gary, sadly, would never be admitted “in”.

Or, so you would think. Gary might have been experiencing turmoil inside, but on the outside even if he was not ‘in’, he was never alone. Girls loved Gary. Girls flocked to Gary. Maybe Gary was not a threat or didn’t place unreasonable, uncomfortable demands on his gal friends. But, he was, by all appearances, popular and well-liked by the “hottest babes” in the school., who seemed to be intimate with him. He never appeared depressed, sorrowful, or on the ‘out’, because he was always surrounded by some of the most attractive girls in the high school. Not an oddity who invoked pity or compassion, Gary was self-composed and knew how to mix with the opposite sex. So, even as he desired to be accepted by the most popular boys, those same boys wanted to know what Gary’s secret was. The “in crowd” ended up crowding around Gary in order to hang with the girls.

Manatees are kind of like the Gary’s of the Sea. They remain by themselves receiving no invitations by the densely popular “schools” of fish to join in their coordinated, syncopated swaying since they sadly could never replicate the sequences. Spending their time alone, wallowing in warm seawaters until temperatures rise making it dangerously warm, they then paddle into the inlets for its cooler waters. While settling near and around the pylons of the pier they are observed by guests at the Manatee Visitors Center in Apollo, Florida who also can enter a tank and swim with the big guys. Here, the manatees seem truly in their element. All of a sudden, its the fish that are on the ‘outs’, all attention bequeathed to the manatees.

Gary and I were not exactly friends. Gary showed signs of liking me. He would walk up to me, oddly from behind, as if we were in mid-conversation. I was averse to this surprise attack of public familiarity. I confess, I’m not sure I was brave enough to reciprocate even if I were inclined to do so. It’s not as if the cost to myself would be high, since I was not in the ‘in’ crowd either. But, did I wish, like a rip-tide, to be washed, adrift, further out from the communal portion of sea? No. That’s why I became a politician. I, too, wanted to be liked. But, whereas, Gary discovered a social niche, I attempted to remain above the fray and talk my way into acceptance with smug aloofness and superiority. Not a great plan. I was a part of the socially disenfranchised who the world of high schoolers so cruelly dismissed because of some errant personality quirk or conspicuous physical attribute.

I decided to run for President of the General Organization (G.O.), the schools student-body congress, as it were. This is where petitions were submitted, laws were made and passed, announcements were delivered over the loud speaker, and intermediaries assigned to talk with teachers about complaints and demands. (Of course, complaining got you nowhere and demands were a full stop) My election platform was instituting a weekly school dance. On stage I attempted to present myself with confidence while the other candidates stood there like they were in a police lineup. When called upon, instead of starting my spiel , I began dancing the Lindy Hop (without a partner) and asked the question, “Who wants a place to be with your friends on Friday evenings? Let’s have a weekly dance.”

I would win going away, however, not without serious consequences. The next day on my way to class a group of guys whose names reflected the Bronx in the 1960”s, Blacky, Apollo, Blaze and, most assuringly, Killer came up to me representing the Castle Hill Avenue Gang. They told me that they all got together and decided to vote for me. There was a proviso. If I didn’t get that weekly dance they would have it in for me. “D’jou got that?” Yeah, I got it. I nearly shit in my pants. Now, what do I do? Mr. Paul Frum, teacher advisor to the G.O. had already told me following my onstage performance that it was highly unlikely the school district would ever approve such a plan because of the cost and the requirements that teachers would need to be assigned as observers. “But maybe we can add a dance halfway through the term?” Maybe. Yeah.

My very existence was on the line when it suddenly came to me. Make it so if my platform promise cannot be met, it won’t be my fault. I went right back to the gang members and told them, “I have a great idea”.

“Hey, Blacky, why don’t you represent the student body and make the case for a dance every week. The teachers might listen to you. We can go together. Suggest that kids that no place to go and just hang out getting into trouble and that the dance would be a good place to bring gang members together instead of fighting in the streets.”

It was brilliant. Blacky wore his faux leather jacket with his collar up and used his best Bronx English doing everything a human being could possibly do to dismantle any hope of a weekly dance other than bringing a coffin, hammer and nails to the meeting. A week later, Mr Frum announced that along with the year-end dance there would be a dance at the end of the first school term and before the Chanukah and Christmas holidays break.

I was a hero. Blacky and the gang thought it was so cool that, “Blacky represent. Yeah” We didn’t get all that I had aspired to. I was still not part of the in crowd. But Gary and I started talking to one another. And, I had a new ‘gang’ of admirers.

Nothing like working your way up in the world.