BS NOT THE SAME AS BACHELOR OF SCIENCE!

A once locally popular (although not where I was concerned) song was premised on the line “do it ah gon die; don’t do it ah gone die!” As vaguely I recall, it was by a South African artiste named General Kneah. His subject: booze, cigarettes, weed—all of the things that for many made life worth living. Of course there was no way of knowing whether the singing pseudo general actually lived the life he seemed to endorse but he was often cited by others, the young in particular, whenever some old baldhead sought to preach to them about the virtues of the drug-free life.

The singer came to mind when I was still wrestling with myself over whether to offer my arm for a vaccination about which little was known—nevertheless was the latest pet subject of Internet know-alls. Hardly a day went by without at least 30 stories, mostly negative and depressing, anonymously reaching me. All were by individuals I’d never heard of. Research proved futile. Usually, the conspiracy theorists could not be tracked down. In any case, even when I found something of interest I could not be certain about its authenticity. There’s very little on the Internet worth betting dollars on, let alone one’s life. Not when people are free to write their own histories, in anticipation of the especially curious and gullible.

I’d never been one for needles. Or, for that matter, drugs. I’ve never regretted my decision to quit competitive bodybuilding in favor of writing about the sport that made me everything I am. Had I stayed, I’d have had to do what needed to be done to win the big money prizes—and doubtless paid the price, as had so many, some even before they hit fifty. Yes, I’ve lost more than a few friends to the needle. Even more wrestlers have died, or landed in serious trouble with the law, all because they were ready to put into their bloodstreams whatever they imagined would make them their sport’s top dog.

But back to the COVID-19 vaccination. I found every excuse not to risk unpredictable and irreversible consequences. I read all the reasons offered as explanations for the unprecedently speedy arrival of the vaccine but I’ve never been one who believed in belief. And what this vaccine called for was faith. But faith in whom? In what? In the words of Dr. Fauci who was the most popular target for conspiracy theorists in almost every country on the map? Dr. Fauci who told the world, in the wake of Trump, that he and other trusted ostensible authorities were forced to say what they did not believe just to keep the then U.S. President in a good mood?

Absolutely confused, I reminded myself that I’d never been ill in all my life, save for a spinal problem that resulted from the ignored effects of a vehicular accident seemingly a century ago. I had to have done something right, I convinced myself. And anyway, we all have to die from something.

Even if that something was old age. Meanwhile I was receiving thrice daily calls from my son Christian, currently overseas based—calls that left me talking like a leading member of the gwen en bas feuille society.

“We’ve all gotta die one day,” I told him on a particularly desperate occasion. “Take the vaccine, I’m still gonna die.” On later reflection I could not believe how low I’d sunk intellectually in my determination (cowardice?) to avoid the COVID-19 needle. But Christian would not give up.

Finally he picked up the sword I’d handed him. “Okay, Dad,” he said. “You take it you die. But you’re gonna die anyway. So what’ve you got to lose? At least there’s a chance you will not die from taking the vaccine. Millions have taken it without the smallest negative effect. Why concentrate on the mostly unconfirmed depressing stories? Be an example to those who are looking to you and others like yourself for encouragement to do the right thing!” He had a lot more to say in that vein that we need not go into at this point.

Bottom line. He made up my mind for me. “Okay,” I said finally. “I’ll do it. But . . .”

“But what, Dad?”

“But if I kick the bucket you’ll be to blame.”

And he said: “Now you’re confusing me. I thought you said you’re gonna die whether or not you take it.” The kid certainly learned a thing or two from his old man. As the whole world must know by now, I offered my arm to Dr. Belmar George’s angels with a score of cameras in attendance. Three weeks later, I’ve noticed or felt nothing that I had not experienced before the needle. No side effects, no loss of appetite. Then again, there may be just one thing: I’ve become more than ever intolerant of bullshitters masquerading as scientists!

This article first appeared in the March 2021 edition of the STAR Monthly Review. Be sure to get your printed copy on newsstands or view it here: https://issuu.com/starbusinessweek/docs/star_monthly_review_-_march_2021