Can I help you with that? – a jar top, a sack of groceries, a heavy box. It catches me off guard – I’m always surprised to find it’s directed toward me. I’ve always been the helper, not the one who needed it.
I am more than grateful for the many wonderful helpers that 
make my very comfortable life possible. Professional and personal, family and friends, neighbors, and of course, the furry ones. It’s just that I’ve always resisted asking for help – preferring to correct mistakes over taking directions, hiding my 
troubles behind a practiced smile. Insisting I’m “just fine” while my insides are screaming for help. Mind you, I’d run out in front of traffic to help someone else…I’m thinking I’m not alone here.
I was taught from an early age to help others. And I know well the joy it brings. But I was not taught how to be helped. It was deep in my family’s psyche, in our very blood; that barring natural disasters or
catastrophic disease, we don’t take help. It follows then, that if you need help, there’s something wrong with you – you’re lazy, you’re not very smart; you’re weak and needy. And you’re definitely not one of us.
Not only was this curious concept fundamental to my family and my community, it was deeply embedded in twentieth century American culture; likely tracing to our pioneer days when survival really did belong to the fittest.
Whatever the reason, I don’t remember any discussion in my family, community, school..anywhere, anytime – about how and when to ask for help. Community support services in our society largely developed in the late 20th century. For example, tutoring, a popular way to gain a competitive edge nowadays, was originally remedial, and therefore, to be avoided. Treatment centers were non-existent. Pre-Oprah, family problems were suffered in silence. And therapy dogs? PTSD? Seriously?
Thankfully, It’s easier for me than for my mother; certainly than for my grandmother, to ask for help. But in spite of our relaxed attitudes toward human vulnerability, I still don’t hear much about receiving help
I’m pretty much making it up as I go. Learning to simply say “Thank You” without a litany of qualifiers and a compulsion to repay. To ask for help but not be crushed by a negative response. Learning to be the source of someone else’s joy of giving.
Like any art form, I’m learning, gracious receiving requires patient, persistent practice. Habits of a lifetime will not go quietly.
It now appears that the virus can spread in clusters, some think by “super-spreaders” who are especially efficient at spreading the virus. But there is no way to know what makes someone a “super spreader.” There may be some as-yet undetermined characteristic that makes an individual especially infectious. Or, it could be that there are not “super spreader individuals”, but “super-spreader events” where people are singing, coughing, exercising, etc, especially in close, poorly ventilated spaces. 
The closer you are, the more you inhale. So there’s no guarantee that you won’t inhale the smoke if you are 6 feet away, especially if you are in a poorly ventilated space and/or the smoker is coughing, talking loudly, etc. Similarly, even if you are outside, fresh air won’t protect you from the spray of virus from the shouting fan next to you in the bleachers. We can easily distance ourselves from the offending smoker. However, unlike the smoker, the infected person may be asymptomatic, have tested negative a week ago and is now positive, or be in the first few days of the incubation period. The CoVid positive person can look and feel perfectly healthy. 
No one knows. But I do know what to do. Sadly, just as there’s no magic diet, my only way forward is the one I know so well; masks, social distancing and hand washing.
 You order iced tea and your server responds, “Sweet or unsweet?
A stranger strikes up a conversation with you at the produce counter and you don’t look for the manager.
It’s hard to find parking in the church parking lot on Sunday.
Mama is a force to be reckoned with.
And family is forever.