THE ISOLATION JOURNALS - DAY TEN - THAT'S DOCTOR GOAT BOY TO YOU

Today’s prompt:

Write about a time where you were dead wrong about someone.

That’s Doctor Goat Boy to You

We sat in front of the TV watching the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. It was my dad, my mom, and me. We’d heard about a boy from a small town in California who’d been admitted to Harvard despite never having gone to a real school. He grew up on a farm raising goats. Like the rest of America, we were curious to gawk at this novelty sideshow.

“Oh, he looks so cute,” my mom sighed in Korean as the lanky boy walked on set.

“He’s going to be your classmate,” my dad said proudly as the boy shook Johnny Carson’s hand and sat down next to Betty White. My dad’s pride had been over the top ever since we opened my Harvard admittance letter.

“I’m sure he’s a dolt,” I thought with the arrogance of the sheltered, high-achieving, and insecure teenager that I was.

***

We sat in the Rotunda of the Freshman Union. It was my roommate, some New York City friends, and me. We saw the boy from some hick town in California who’d appeared on Carson despite never having made a movie or TV show. Like the rest of our college freshman classmates, we were eager to tear down this celebrity interloper.

“Oh, he looks lost,” one friend sneered as the lanky student walked past.

“He’s going to fail out in a semester – two, at the most,” another one said as the student set down his tray at the next table. My New York City friends’ swagger was over the top, even though they had no reason for it.

“Yeah, he’s had his fifteen minutes of fame,” I added with the half-hearted confidence of a Pittsburgher trying to fake it among New Yorkers.

***

We sat in front of our computer watching the latest numbers of dead and infected in San Francisco. It was my husband, my son, and me. We watched the doctor who had gone from being Obama’s AIDS advisor to head of San Francisco’s Public Health Department. Like the rest of our beloved city, we were desperate for a glimmer of hope.

“Oh, he really knows what he’s doing,” my husband says.

“He’s going to shut this shit down,” my son says as the gaunt man on the screen talks about trying to control the spread of the virus among the homeless, the working class, the non-English-speaking population.

“Yeah, did you know,” I begin.

“Yes, we know he’s your classmate,” my husband and son cry in unison. “From Harvard.” They draw out the syllables in mock-Boston accents. Park the car in Harvard Yard.

“Your friends used to call him Goat Boy,” my son says.

I watch the gaunt man with his serious face. The man who’s working day and night to save us from disaster. The man I underestimated from the start.

“Hey, show a little respect,” I say. “That’s Doctor Goat Boy to you.”