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D. None of the above

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

When our children were young, our first, primary and most important mission was to make sure they were safe and healthy.

We didn’t sit down at the beach because each of them had a tendency, like me I suppose, to head directly into the water. Sometimes, they weren’t on board with our efforts to protect them.

We would put them in a car seat and, almost instantly, they would arch their backs so far that it was impossible to strap them in.

Or we would try to apply sunscreen and they would wiggle away and giggle, as we dropped a glob of white cream on the floor or sprayed it into the air.

We made them hold our hands even when they didn’t want to touch us. Anyone who read last week’s column can understand why my children, in particular, might not want to hold my intolerably sweaty hand during the heat of the summer.

We also urged them to wear bike helmets, even though they weren’t cool, to wear mittens or gloves in the winter and to get enough sleep so they could function the next day at school or at their numerous basketball/baseball/softball/volleyball/music practices over the weekend or in the evening after a long day of listening to adults talk at them.

One day, after a particularly exciting and challenging basketball game for our son, one of his friends asked if he could bring him to a movie with his family.

“Uh, I guess so,” I shrugged, as I counted the basketballs I shoved into a mesh bag to make sure I had exactly the number the league had given me. “What movie?”

“Hunger Games,” my son’s friend said.

I looked at my wife. I’d heard that the movie was particularly violent and knew that our son, who was under nine, might struggle to make it through a PG-13 movie, particularly one that involved violence among children.

“Are you sure you want to go?” I whispered to our son, hoping that I could encourage him to do something else that evening that might not cost him and, perhaps, us some sleep.

“Daaaaddd,” he said, giving me the can’t-you-be-a-fun-dad-just-this-once look.

My wife and I locked eyes, trying to figure out if either of us should step in and suggest that we’d rather he didn’t go.

We rolled the dice, holding our breath as he jogged away from us across the gym.

We considered taking a nap before he came home, just to prepare ourselves for a restless night.

When he finally returned, he had a broad grin on his face.

“You gotta see the movie, it’s amazing,” he said.

We weren’t sure whether he was just being tough in front of his friend or if he really liked it. Each of the next eight times we asked, he never changed his answer or wavered.

That night, all of us slept well.

Fast forward to today. Our kids are watching and streaming whatever appeals to them. Somehow, one of them asked if we had seen the series “Black Mirror,” suggesting it was a modern version of “The Twilight Zone.”

The first episode, with Salma Hayek, was clever and amusing at the same time. Playing herself, Hayek was particularly funny. Psychologically, it was what we thought and expected.

Then, we watched a few more episodes that became darker and more unnerving. Both of us lost some sleep after watching scenes that exceeded our gore threshold.

We started a text chain with our children, letting them know that we liked the first one and then felt as if the program did a bait-and-switch on us, taking us in a different direction from the psychological into the painful and gory.

They instantly offered their thoughts on different episodes and what they advised was appropriate for mom and dad to watch.

Our kids sent messages like “this one is not scary” and “I think it’s safe to watch.”

At least as far as some TV programs, we’ve come full circle. We are no longer trying to offer them parental guidance, at least where movies are concerned. Maybe they can help establish a new film rating system for sensitive parents.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

If sweat were a valuable commodity, I’d be in high demand.

As it is, however, my thick, heavy high-volume sweat is as welcome as a cup of warm water on a hot, sticky day.

When I was a teenager and attended basketball camp, I used to sit in the back seat with two other campers, squeezing my thick thighs together as much as possible to avoid sharing the sweat that coated my legs.

I had and continue to have the kind of sweat glands that would give marathoners from Ethiopia a run for their money.

No, I can’t run as far or as fast as a marathon runner, but I still sometimes looked like one, especially on those summer days when I walked a few miles to work and arrived in a puddle-stained suit.

Fortunately, the public, even before the notion of “fake news” became trendy, rarely had high expectations for the attire of a reporter.

When the temperature and humidity are high enough, I can picture the various characters from the Disney/Pixar movie “Inside Out” pushing and shoving as they try to climb into a small raft in a sweat-drenched control room.

The process almost always starts on my upper lip. That’s where beady sweat scouts come out, checking to see if it is indeed worth alerting the rest of my body that it’s a good time to join the fun.

Within seconds, my arms and wrists have the almost modest effect of glistening, as a thin layer of perspiration can catch the sun at just the right angle, giving my skin a mildly reflective look. After a few short moments, the production line kicks into higher gear. My fingers, which often swell when I walk more than a mile or so, become drenched.

I have had a few occasions when I’ve run into people who introduce me to others in this condition. When they stick out their hands to shake mine, I’m stuck.

While holding my hand back is disrespectful, soaking someone I’ve met with a soggy handshake makes the wrong kind of first impression.

My sister-in-law carries a collection of mostly healthy snacks in her purse for when my typically charming and delightful brother enters the hangry stage of the day and needs food to carry him to the next meal.

I don’t often become frustrated or angry when I’m hungry. I do, however, become embarrassed when I can feel the thick, heavy drops of sweat racing down my back, slaloming down my legs and collecting in my shoes.

Maybe I should suggest to my wife that she carry wipes, paper towels, an electric fan, or a magical towel that comes out of a tiny purse but can absorb a full day’s worth of sweat. I bet Mary Poppins could pull that off.

Since I’m not always with my wife and this isn’t her problem, I rub my hands against my legs. That kind of works, although that then leaves a soaked hand print on the outside of my pant leg which is usually met by the layer of moisture accumulating on the inside of my pants.

Now, dry fit shirts have become a true gift for me, as they don’t immediately become drenched with perspiration. Maybe some day someone will invent a dry fit suit, which looks like normal business attire, but doesn’t become a magnet for moisture.

I know astronauts drink a purified form of urine, the moisture they exhale and their own sweat. When I interviewed Astronaut Scott Kelly several years ago, he mentioned that he particularly enjoyed the taste of the purified water aboard the International Space Station, where he lived for 340 straight days.

I suppose that means I’d be a valuable commodity as an older, slower moving astronaut, assuming that I didn’t need to drink every ounce and then some, of what I produced when I sweat.

Oh well, that probably won’t work and I’m not that eager to travel into space. In the spirit of reduce, reuse, recycle, maybe I should figure out how to turn my own sweat into an icy cold drink.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Our senses are such an exquisite gift, at any time of the year.

During the summer on Long Island, we can close our eyes, which is home to our most dominant sense, and breathe in the other stimuli.

For me, the sounds of summer form a symphony, with notes coming from nearly every part of my imagined orchestra.

First, the water and everything on and around it reminds us of the pageantry of the island.

The regular horn from the Port Jefferson/ Bridgeport Ferry warns other boats of its movements even as the horn carries great distances.

The summer surf, which can be so variable, can offer a calming, rhythmic shushing sound, as the water laps on the shore or slowly feels its way up the rocks.

With stronger winds or a storm brewing in the Atlantic, those same waves can crash down more violently, as if someone put an amplifier along the beach. Instead of offering a peaceful shush, they provide more of a vibrating symbol, announcing their presence on shore, pulling rocks and sand back out to the ocean amid a more violent undertow.

Then, of course, there is the welcome sound of merriment coming from the water, with children squealing with delight as they play “Marco Polo,” race back and forth in a pool, splash each other, or have chicken fights.

Often at the beaches, the slow progression of an ice cream truck, playing “The Entertainer” or some other redundant musical variant, calls to parents and adults, luring us with cold sweets to offset hot days.

Depending on where you walk, drive, or bicycle, you might also hear the sound of a well struck tennis ball or the disappointed grunt or unprintable word that follows a missed volley, a double fault, or a backhand that sailed long.

Growing up, I was part of a sailing family. In addition to the constant chewing sound that came from the nonstop floating meals, we also heard the fluttering and unfurling of a sail, the regular crashing and splashing of the boat on the waves, and the sudden and frantic maneuvers of passengers on a boat that’s heading into shallow water or towards another vessel.

All manner of birds call to each other from the trees, with the familiar tweet, tweet, screeeeech coming from red-winged blackbirds who always seem to be trying to one-up each other with their aggressive squawking.

Our noses also become more active during the summer, as we can smell the salt water even before we round that last turn on the way to the beach. We can also enjoy the scent of mouth-watering Fourth of July barbecues or, perhaps, the smell of late night s’mores.

Those of us fascinated and delighted by the weather also might catch the scent of an approaching rain storm before the first drops arrive, as the sudden change in humidity or cooler air serves as a preamble for approaching precipitation.

Speaking of cooler, our skin, which we, of course, should protect during the brighter and longer days of summer, can also partake in a wide range of experiences.

For starters, we can cool off during the unbearably hot days by diving into a cool pool or running through the surf and plunging below the surface.

After we take long walks along a hot path, we can enter a heavily air conditioned room, where we might consider grabbing a long-sleeved tee shirt or a light sweatshirt despite the searing outdoor heat.

The tastes of summer also sweeten the season, with fresh fruit and pies serving as the finale to a satisfying meal.

Even without looking at the fireworks, we can appreciate the percussive cadence of these exploding colors. We can hear the long whistle of fireworks hissing their way against gravity, until they explode into a shower of sparklers. As the fireworks celebrations build, we can hear the more rapid explosions, which typically conclude with loud, rapid sounds whose echoes sometimes interfere or amplify the boom from the next set of entertaining sights and sounds.

Then, of course, we can enjoy the wide range of colorful light that uses our homes and neighborhoods as a posterboard, enabling even mundane speed limit signs to irradiate with oranges, yellows and reds.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

The montage played in my mind even before I stepped out of the car at the Old Field Club last weekend. My father and older brother were pedaling ahead of me, too fast for my thick, stocky legs to keep pace. My younger brother and mother were behind me, too slow for my taste and my level of impatience.

“Pe-dal fa-ster,” I recalled grimacing through crooked, gritted teeth, hoping that I could hear whatever magic words my father and older brother were exchanging.

Pushing on a bicycle that didn’t have any gears and struggling against a wind that always seemed to be blowing in my face, I only caught up to them when they circled back. Determined as I was not to cut corners or shorten my ride, I reached the end of West Meadow Beach, stopped for a few seconds to rest my legs and restarted the pursuit.

I could also picture the numerous times I stood on the shore, searching for the perfect skimming rock, bringing a collection to the water’s edge and waiting my turn to try to send a rock far from shore.

More dramatic weather scenes also played in my head, as I pictured waves frozen in place by a prolonged stretch of cold weather. I’m sure I love winter beaches because of those moments when I felt like I owned the isolated sand sculpted by the same powerful wind whose fingers tried to reach through any holes in my coat or open air spaces to stab at exposed skin.

After heavy rainstorms, I recalled stopping on my ten-speed bike, staring at the flooded road that turned the road into a canal.

And then there was last Saturday, as I drove up to the entrance to the club, waiting for a valet to park my car and to celebrate the wedding of the son of a close friend and former coworker of my wife.

We entered the club, took our glass of champagne and made our way to the benches outside, where other people my wife knew greeted her and compared notes about the changes in their lives since they last saw each other.

While overlooking the water, we listened as my wife’s friend’s son, whom I recall seeing years earlier eating ice cream and “making memories,” exchanged vows each of them wrote to mark this incredible occasion. My wife’s friend’s son expressed his eagerness to start his own family.

I watched carefully as my wife’s friend had a perma-grin plastered on her ageless face, reveling in this couple that seemed to melt into each other’s arms for their first dance. The family I didn’t know at all also seemed pleased, albeit in a more buttoned down and restrained way, as they clapped for the happy couple.

Then, of course, the music, which served as a starter’s gun for my wife and me at these events, began, sending us vaulting out of our seats and onto the dance floor.

Life was so different for me now, as an appreciative guest for this loving event, but also for the world. People took out their cell phones to take pictures of this endless love, they exchanged cell phone numbers, and smiled at a camera atop a giant mirror on the dance floor that developed a sequence of photos.

Several grandparents enjoyed the celebration, beaming with pride at their children and grandchildren.

They likely had even more memories flooding through their mind than I, as they could recall the birth of their own children and grandchildren, with yet another magical turn of the time wheel to the next generation.

When these grandparents were considerably younger, they couldn’t have attended such a wedding, as the loving couple are both men. 

Here they were, supporting their grandson, who floated across the room with his husband and expressed his keen appreciation for the guests who came to celebrate this momentous day.

I wonder what ways the world might change between now and when we, if we’re fortunate enough, get to celebrate a similar event for future generations.

For me, that night was yet another memory on a familiar road that has served as the backdrop for my life’s journey. Even as I replay the celebration, I can hear the words of several ABBA songs, like “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme” and “Lay all your love on me.”

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Shhh, don’t tell anyone, but I just received a copy of the draft of the debate rules that were sent to the two older gentlemen who would like to be president from 2024 to 2028.

Now, no one was supposed to see these, but my friend’s nephew’s babysitter’s neighbor happened to be taking out his recycling and he noticed a piece of paper with official presidential letter head on it. I’m going to share a few ideas that almost made it into the debate.

First, the two candidates considered the possibility of a brief nap. Each of them would have had a pillow and a small bed, just off stage, where they could recover and restore their vim and vigor.

Second, they were considering whether to allow a translator for each of them. That way, when one of them misspeaks and uses the wrong name or mispronounces a word, a country, a language or a religion, the translator could auto correct for the moment.

Third, they each considered bringing a Pinocchio onstage. When the other person spoke, the nonspeaking candidate could demonstrate the perceived inaccuracy of the other person’s comments by extending the nose of their puppet. 

Fourth, they each considered at least 30 seconds when they could appeal directly and exclusively to their donors, explaining why they needed more money and how they would best use it.

Fifth, they were each given the opportunity to ignore one question openly and ask themselves a better one that they themselves could then answer.

Sixth, they wanted the chance to stump the other with their spectacular knowledge of the world. Each person could ask the other to spell the name of a particular country and then demonstrate their world prowess by pointing to that country on an unlabeled map.

Seventh, they could each choose a way to demonstrate their intellectual prowess by choosing from the following list: name as many digits of pi as possible, name the former presidents in order, share the names of some important Supreme Court decisions, or name as many national parks as they could.

Eighth, each candidate would have the opportunity, in a minute or less, to share a lesson they learned in the classroom that they believe has come in particularly handy in their lives.

Ninth, each candidate would have to name at least five people who aren’t relatives and who are alive who they think might be great presidents one day.

Tenth, before they offered their own positions, each president would have a chance to do their best impersonation of the other man. For 90 seconds, each of them could pretend to be the candidate for the rival party.

Eleventh, in the spirit of collaboration and cooperation, each one had to say something genuinely supportive and nice about the other person, and it couldn’t be about the person’s family.

Twelfth, each participant would need to spend at least 30 seconds sharing his thoughts on RFK Jr.’s candidacy.

Thirteenth, each candidate would have to indicate how he would be president for the entire United States and not just his constituency. Each candidate would be required to speak directly to the supporters of the other candidate, suggesting why people who have made up their minds should change their vote.

Fourteenth, both candidates would need to discuss something other than his rival as the greatest threat to the future of the United States.

Fifteenth, each candidate should discuss why, despite their frustration with the press that they think favors the other side, they still support the First Amendment. They would also need to share their views on the value of a free press, emphasizing in particular its ability to hold politicians accountable.

Sixteenth, the winner of the debate, as determined by an independent panel of disinterested observers, would circle the stage while sharing some dance moves of his choice.

Seventeenth, regardless of the outcome of the debate, the candidates agree to shake each other’s hands, to smile and to wish their competitor, their competitor’s family, and the country well.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

It’s so easy to take each other for granted. Of course mom is going to drop everything at work, where she has an incredibly important job, and race to watch you play clarinet with your dad during a day-time concert because that’s what she does and that’s who she is.

And, of course, grandma is going to bring the entire family together for various holidays, welcoming us with hugs and kisses and ensuring that the house has the specific foods each of us needs for the days we share.

But these moments are not a given, any more than sunshine during a picnic or a last minute, life-saving reaction that avoids a traffic accident is.

Recently, my wife and I attended a service for my late mother-in-law. In a small ceremony at the cemetery, almost the entire extended family came.

My wife and I, our children and father-in-law arrived together over 90 minutes early. We sat in the car, waiting for everyone else to arrive and for the ceremony to begin. Other cars slowly glided past us, as other families and friends came to pay respects and to honor those whom they were fortunate enough to know but had lost.

Our children and I climbed out of the car and walked up and down the road, looking at the significant life-defining dates — when someone was born and when they died. We calculated how old each person was. A child died at the age of two in 1931, while a grandmother lived well into her 90’s.

Small raindrops started to fall, sending us scampering back into the car just before a sudden and surprisingly strong downpour.

My wife checked the forecast, which suggested that the rain would stop before the ceremony. Sure enough, 20 minutes before we had to get out of the car, the rain eased up and the sun peaked through the clouds, as the mixed weather served as a backdrop for moments of appreciation and an awareness of the keen loss.

We greeted other family members, who hugged us, shook our hands, or, in some cases, ignored us, carrying grudges or standing on principle for slights real or imagined long ago.

We saw an extended relative and her fiancée whom we hadn’t seen in person since their engagement. We congratulated them on their upcoming wedding, asked about the planning for the big day, and enjoyed the reality of a multi-year relationship transitioning into an upcoming marriage.

The officiant called everyone over, causing almost every other conversation to stop. After some somber words, he urged us to reflect on the person we were so fortunate to know and on the valuable time we shared.

After he expressed awe at the incredible long-term marriage between my father-in-law and mother-in-law, he asked if anyone wanted to speak. In a soft voice, my father-in-law celebrated the relationship he had with his wife, recalling the first time he met her and the bond they formed over 66 years of marriage.

When the officiant asked if anyone else wanted to speak, he turned to the grandchildren. Our son, who is the youngest grandchild and who gravitated towards his mother to offer his support, nodded.

He remembered the way his grandmother called him over whenever we arrived, smiling broadly and signaling with her index finger for him to come kiss her, which he and all the next generation readily did.

He also remembered how grandma, who was among the smallest people in any room, was always the cake cutter for birthdays. He described how her tiny arms worked their way through each cake, even frozen ice cream cakes, as she made sure everyone got a piece.

With each word, he reflected the love she gave to all her grandchildren back out into the world. In that moment, when he so eloquently captured his grandmother’s dedication to family, he made it clear that he didn’t take her for granted, any more than my wife and I took him for granted.

Without any preparation, he rose to the occasion, helping us see her through his grateful eyes.

There was no “of course” that day for grandma or for her grandchildren, just gratitude.

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0 491
METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Want a social ice breaker with even the most reluctant neighbor? Get a dog!

People share quite a bit about themselves when they’re reaching down to pet a pooch who stares them in the eyes, wags his tail and appreciates their attention.

Thoughts, ideas, and pieces of themselves come pouring out in a range of categories.

Shaggy dog tales: Friends, neighbors and strangers in a park often offer vignettes about their own dogs. They talk about how much they enjoy having them in the house, how their beloved pets are eating the furniture, and how delighted they are to return to the house to find creatures who, unlike their teenage children, are genuinely happy to see them.

Would that they could: Even as they pet my eager dog, they sometimes share wistful thoughts about how they’d like to have their own dog. They travel too much, can’t get up early enough or have friends and family members who are allergic. Some are still in mourning for their late canine friends and can’t imagine getting another one.

Dog whisperers: Then, there are those people who know what your dog is feeling and thinking far better than you, despite the fact that you have lived with your dog for years? They direct their not so-subtle observations to the dog. “Oh, you adorable puppy, you look so hot. Are you hot? Do you need water? Do you need a bath? Do you need a better owner than this eavesdropping oaf at the other end of your leash?” Or, perhaps, “Are you walking too far for your short legs? Do you wish your owner would get more of his exercise at the gym and less of it taking you for these marathon walks?” “Are you hungry? Do you need a snack? Is your mean old owner trying to lose weight himself so he’s not feeding you enough?” Sometimes, of course, those people are right and my dog is hot, tired, or hungry. Then again, he’s a dog attached to a stomach, so he’s always hungry.

Feel free to unload while my dog does the same: While my dog relieves himself, people share considerable information about their lives. One woman told me, in eerie overtones with the show “Dear Evan Hansen,” how she and her ex-husband felt the need to intervene with a daughter battling mental health issues. Fortunately, the daughter and her parents are doing well.

The keep away owners: Some dog owners use their dog or dogs as shields, walking them at rapid paces on tight leashes, making it clear that they, and their dogs, have no interest in catching up. They are out getting some air or exercise and they have no need to give their dogs a chance to sniff each other, or to compare thoughts on anything from the weather to the best way to get rid of that not-so-fresh dog smell.

The couple competition: Even as dogs have non verbal cues as they approach each other, so, too, do humans. Some couples, who are walking next to each other, break apart, as one person is eager to be the first to pet the dog. Like Groucho Marx, my dog is more interested in joining the clubs that might not want him as much, and maneuvers around the extended hand to try to win over the more reluctant walker. The eager petter will whine, “what about me?” My dog either ignores him or gives that person the dog equivalent of an exasperated eye roll.

The dog watchers: Yes, I know it sounds conspiratorial, but they do exist. People sometimes sit in their homes, watching carefully to see if a dog leaves an unattended, unwanted dropping on their lawn. Eager to catch their neighbors in the act, they have cameras at the ready to document the offending moment.

The fact collectors: Some people seem more interested in learning details about my dog than they do in hearing about me. They ask me to remind them how old he is — one day older than when you asked yesterday — how much he weighs, where I got him, how he sleeps, and what games he likes to play. With them, it might be better to skip the “How are you doing?” and go straight to “How’s your dog’s day going?”

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

In connection with the Times Beacon Record Newspapers’ coverage of Stony Brook University’s Center for Healthy Aging, I asked a host of people what gets better for them with age. I promised each of them anonymity, so I have altered their names.

Starting with people in their 40’s to 60’s, one of the most common responses involved the relationship they had with their children.

“The first thing that comes to my mind is that my kids get better with age,” explained John in an email. “It has been such a joy to watch [his 15-year old daughter and 13-year-old son] grow up and become smart, relatively well-adjusted, and really interesting young adults.”

Indeed, Mary, whose children are in their early 20’s, suggested that her relationship with both of them has gotten better with each passing year. She appreciates their support and caring and feels time with them, by definition, has become quality time.

Julie, who is an empty nester, believes her relationship with her husband has improved dramatically. In the first few years after her children graduated from college, she and her husband did not have the same ideas about how to help guide and direct their children, leading to tension in their household and their marriage.

After a few important and stressful conversations, as well as an ultimatum or two, Julie and her husband have never been closer and are enjoying the opportunity to live, work and play together.

The 40’s to 60’s group also shared their professional confidence and comfort, trusting their own judgment as they have poured considerable time and effort into building their careers.

“Perspective gets better since you’ve seen more situations and something that might have appeared catastrophic earlier comes into focus as something that will pass,” Robert said in an email.

Dana feels her sense of self has improved. “I know who I am, and my thoughts, feelings and actions are now more aligned, which leads to contentment,” she said.

Fred suggested that his friendships have gotten better over time, both in importance and depth. He also feels his dog has made a ‘tremendous difference in my life.”

As the years since formal schooling slip further back in his life, Fred appreciates the opportunity to read for his own enjoyment and for himself, instead of to fulfill the requirements for a class.

The younger generation, which includes a sampling of people in their low to mid 20’s, couldn’t resist showing a little attitude.

The first response to “what gets better with age” was “cheese and wine.”

Sharing the sentiment expressed by those who have older children, they added “their appreciation for their parents.”

Also making the cut were “little things you took for granted,” “going on a long run and not getting hurt,” and “an appreciation for hanging out with friends.”

In the years after playing on school teams became less frequent, they also appreciate the opportunity to return to the court or to the field to play sports that are no longer scheduled a few times a week over the course of a long season.

As for those over 65, the list includes “focusing on the things that matter,” said Sheila. “Don’t sweat the little things.”

Carrie has learned to care less about what others think and do what she wants to do.

Joe suggested that “wisdom and temperament” come with age, although he added that’s not always the case.

“I don’t have to worry everyday about whether I will succeed in my goals,” said Paula, who is still working and traveling as a part of her job as she approaches 80. “I don’t have to worry whether my child will survive or thrive, whether I can pay my bills. I can relax a bit, but not too much because there is so much yet to do.”

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Anthony S. Fauci, MD, addressing the RSOM graduating Class of 2024. Credit: Arthur Fredericks

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Speaking in a front of a receptive, appreciative and celebratory audience of 125 graduates of the Renaissance School of Medicine at Stony Brook University who gave him a standing ovation before and after his commencement address, Dr Anthony Fauci, former Director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, shared some thoughts on the hard lessons learned from the last four years.

Dr. Fauci currently serves as Distinguished University Professor at the Georgetown University School of Medicine and the McCourt School of Public Policy and also serves as Distinguished Senior Scholar at the O’Neill Institute for National and Global Health Law.

“I speak not only of lessons we have learned that can help us prepare for the next public health challenge, but, more importantly, of lessons that will apply to your future professional and personal experiences that are far removed from pandemic outbreaks,” Fauci said, after complimenting the class on persevering in their training despite the challenges and losses.

To start with, he suggested these new doctors expect the unexpected. In the early phase of the pandemic, the virus revealed multiple secrets, “some of which caught us somewhat by surprise,” Fauci said. “As well prepared as we thought we were, we learned that SARS-Cov2 is often transmitted from people who are infected but have no symptoms.”

Additionally, the virus continually mutated, forming more transmissable variants that caused illness even in those who had already contracted the virus.

“Each revelation not only humbled us, but served as a stark reminder that, when facing novel and unanticipated challenges in life, as you all will I promise, any predictions we might make about what will happen next or how the situation will unfold must always be provisional,” Fauci said.

Dealing with these challenges requires being open-minded and flexible in assessing situations as new information emerges.

He cautioned the new doctors and scientists to beware of the insidious nature of anti science.

Even as doctors have used data and evidence learning to gain new insights and as the stepping stones of science, anti science became “louder and more entrenched over time. This phenomenon is deeply disturbing” as it undermines evidence-based medicine and sends the foundation of the social order down a slippery slope.

Even as science was under attack, so, too, were scientists. “During the past four years, we have witnessed an alarming increase in the mischaracterization, distortion and even vilification of solid evidence-based findings and even of scientists themselves,” Fauci continued.

Mixing with these anti science notions were conspiracy theories, which created public confusion and eroded trust in evidence-based public health principals.

“This became crystal clear as we fought to overcome false rumors about the mRNA Covid vaccines during the roll out” of vaccines which Dr. Peter Igarashi, Dean of the Renaissance School of Medicine estimated in his introduction for Dr. Fauci saved more than 20 million lives in their first year of availability.

“I can confirm today that Bill Gates [the former CEO of Microsoft] and I did not put chips in the Covid vaccines,” Fauci said. “And, no, Covid vaccines are not responsible for more deaths than Covid.”

The worldwide disparagement of scientific evidence is threatening other aspects of public health, he said, as parents are opting out of immunizing their children, which is leading to the recent clusters of measles cases, he added.

Elements of society are “driven by a cacophony of falsehoods, lies and conspiracy theories that get repeated often enough that after a while, they become unchallenged,” he said. That leads to what he described as a “normalization of untruths.”

Fauci sees this happening on a daily basis, propagated by information platforms, social media and enterprises passing themselves off as news organizations. With doctors entering a field in which evidence and data-driven conclusions inform their decisions, they need to “push back on these distortions of truth and reality.”

He appealed to the graduates to accept a collective responsibility not to accept the normalization of untruths passively, which enables propaganda and the core principals of a just social order to begin to erode.

Fauci exhorted students to “seek and listen to opinions that differ from your own” and to analyze information which they have learned to do in medical school.

“Our collective future truly is in your hands,” Fauci said.

Fauci also urged these doctors and scientists to take care of their patients and to advance knowledge for the “good of humankind.”

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Pixabay photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I took my first trip to London with my wife and I never felt like we were far from home or from living history.

In Uber rides, the music of Justin Timberlake, the Pointer Sisters and numerous other American artists provided the soundtrack for our visit.

Walking around the city and descending into the tube, advertisements for American products such as Pepsi and movies such as “The Fall Guy” and “Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes” adorned the sides of hackney cars, the iconic red double-decker buses and the walls of the tube.

The cars on the tube were much narrower than I expected, as people sitting across from me tapped my feet without standing or stretching. 

For a country that drives on the left, I was mystified by the “keep right” signs. If they drive on the left, why do they walk on the right?

London has its fair share of “must visits,” such as the Tower of London, Big Ben and Parliament and the Churchill War Rooms. An imposing and impressive testament to the history of the city and the country, the Tower of London forms a small metropolis with its enormous towers and stories of prisoners. Graffiti on the walls bears the name and religious convictions of those confined to the tower and in some cases tortured or killed.

Big Ben was larger and more elaborate than I imagined. It reminded me of an earlier visit to Mount Rushmore, where I found the size and pageantry of the four former presidents magnificent and moving.

The Churchill War Rooms provided a close up view of the remarkable fortitude and foresight of the celebrated prime minister. At the age of 65, Churchill spent considerable time underground.

When he learned that the facility was vulnerable to a direct hit from a German bomb, he complained in a letter displayed on the wall of the memorial that Patrick Duff, who was permanent secretary of the Office of Works, had “sold him a pup.”

The government added concrete and, after a nearby bomb shook the bunker, Churchill lamented that the bomb didn’t strike close enough to test the reinforcements.

Veterans of the shelter, many of whom rarely saw sunlight underground, shared stories about going under sunlamps to increase their vitamin D, about Churchill’s need for quiet, and about their secret life.

The arms of one of Churchill’s chairs in the cabinet room bears the marks of his fingers digging into the wood, as he listened to testimony, prepared action plans and reacted to news.

Throughout his tenure during the war, Churchill traveled extensively, visiting everywhere from the United States, to Cairo to Moscow, rallying support for the war and visiting foreign leaders and dignitaries, sometimes for more than a month. The Prime Minister, who was almost 71 when the war ended, traveled over 100,000 miles during those tumultuous years. Observers shared parts of his routine, which included two baths a day and three meals per day.

Churchill, who was involved in everything from planning the war effort to offering advice about military technology, pointed out that the government named a tank after him “when they found out it was no damn good!”

Aside from our historical visits, we enjoyed listening to, and watching, people. Like so many other big cities, London attracts guests from around the world, as French, Spanish and German blended with Japanese, Chinese and Arabic languages.

We enjoyed the hospitality of numerous Brits. A beefeater at the Tower of London, which was hit by a few stray bombs, suggested the site wasn’t a target during World War II because it had no strategic value.

Or, perhaps, the Germans and their killer leader “liked the Tower” and didn’t want it or the crown jewels, destroyed.

On the lighter side, we experienced a range of London weather while on a short boat trip on the Thames, as sunlight gave way to dark clouds and wind turned some umbrellas inside out.

The tour guide on the boat offered one of the more unexpected linguistic differences. He described how certain buildings were converted from commercial properties into apartments.

“Wait, what did he just say?” I asked my wife, chuckling.

“What do you mean?”

“I think he’s talking about warehouses and he said, ‘Where asses.’”

Later, when he described a queen’s residence, he also suggested this was one of the queen’s favorite ‘asses.’

Yes, we had a “eck” of a time in London and would be more than “appy” to visit again.

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