I was going to make this a lighthearted post because I’ve adapted well to the changes brought on by the “Bob.”
In case you don’t know, I call it the “Bob” after an excerpt in my novel, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, where protagonist Greg, and his boss, Olaf, are discussing research papers. Olaf says:
“Convoluted writing and obscure terms are a way of intimidating the uninitiated, keeping the profession closed to non-scientists, and adding to the scientific mystique. Just think, if diseases had names like Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice, doctors wouldn’t make anywhere near the amount of money they do now.”
Greg laughed. “That’s an idea. They do it for hurricanes, why not everything else?” He mimed seizing the phone and dialing. “Mr. Olaf? I can’t come in today. I’ve got the Bob.” He hung up his imaginary receiver and looked inquiringly at his boss.
Olaf nodded. “Works for me.”
All during the worst of the shutdown, I hated giving the malady — both the physical ailment and the widespread cultural and financial ill — the hated name. I didn’t want to grant the horror more power than it already had and, too, I didn’t want to surrender to the fearmongering. At least, not for myself. I don’t get the flu, and besides, I’d made a vow never allow myself to get caught up in another scarifying scheme such as happened with the Swine Flu fiasco of 1976. Outwardly, I made a point of following their dictates. I stayed home. (Yay!! Such a good excuse to take a break from socializing.) I made sure to stay 6 feet away from anyone I did happen to see. (Again, yay!! I’ve never liked people standing on my heels while waiting in line.) I wore the mask. (Another yay! I liked the anonymity.) And I always made sure I had an easy answer when asked if I’d gotten the vaccine. (It wasn’t a lie, but not the strict truth, either.) And even though we’ve been paying for the stimulus checks with inflation for the past few years (each of us has probably spent more in inflationary dollars than we ever received for “free”), they were a nice bonus for me at the time.
So, for me, it wasn’t a hardship. The worst thing, I think, was keeping from getting caught up in the fear. And the best thing was having an excuse to be alone, and that still holds true to this day.
So why did I change my mind about a lighthearted post? Because other people weren’t so lucky. I know several women who lost their husbands and subsequently their way of life. (Too often widows end up in financial straits, as if losing that one special person isn’t trauma enough.) I know others who have lost beloved family members. And I know still others who have become lost in a cycle of never-cured illnesses.
If this had been a naturally occurring illness, there might be some sense of fatalism to help with acceptance, but I doubt there’s anyone out there who still believes it “just happened.” We (the people) might never know the truth. Might never know who to blame. Might always be shadowed by the spector of “if they did it once, they can do it again.”
One thing I do know: we — individually and as a people — will always be changed forever by the “Bob.”
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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.


















The “R” Thing
February 19, 2026 — Pat BertramI don’t know if I’ll ever post this because of . . . you know, the “R” thing. Still, I’m writing this for me because I think it’s interesting and because it’s something I’ve been noticing and thinking about.
I mentioned once or twice before that I sometimes listen to conservative black commentators. I started because I wanted to hear what they thought about white liberals insinuating (if not flat out saying) that blacks were too stupid to figure out how to get an ID in order to vote. Interestingly, most of those commentators ignored the issue, as if it had nothing to do with them because of course, it didn’t. The insinuation is merely talk from people who haven’t a clue what they are saying and no concept of how the world works.
I continued watching these commentators because they are smart and informed, they have great sources and resources, and they gave me a different slant on what was happening in this country. I especially wanted to hear things from their point of view rather than from the white liberals who are always telling us what blacks think (or what they should think).
That’s neither here nor there. It’s just something I did. But here’s what’s interesting: suddenly, I’m seeing a lot of these non-white people asking, “Where are the whites?” You’d think (if you listened to liberals) that living in a white-free world is what people of color want, but it isn’t. These commentators want what most of us want — to be known as Americans (or rather, United-States-ians since “American” suddenly means something different from what it always has meant), and they want to be part of a country where the races can intermingle. The first time I heard a mention of disappearing whites was from a black commentator who reviewed the half-time show. She said if it was supposed to be inclusive, “Where are the whites?” And then she admitted she missed seeing them.
Another black woman said that if it’s okay to promote black-owned business, then it should be okay to promote businesses as white-owned, but instead of doing either, she concluded, all these businesses should simply be promoted as “American-owned businesses.”
Then another black commentator noticed a white student being blocked from entering a “multi-cultural” area on campus and pointed out that “multi-cultural” by definition would include whites.
And yet another black commentator mentioned the difference between black pride and white pride — one is hailed as a good thing, the other evil.
And one often tells the history of slavery and mentions that whites are the only ones who fought to get rid of slavery, a practice that has gone on all over the world for thousands of years.
A prevalent comment left on these videos is from whites telling them they are betraying their race. Luckily, the commentators continue to voice their opinions despite this.
It seems ironic (or maybe fitting? I don’t know) in a world that’s trying to erase whites, where whites are made to feel ashamed of their heritage and skin color, where you can’t state simple facts if those facts include “whiteness,” where the European influence on the founding of this country is being overwritten, where an entire generation of white boys have been demonized for things that happened before they were born, it’s blacks who are pointing this out.
Maybe I am that “R” thing as so-called friends on Facebook once railed at me when I merely shared a post by a conservative black commentator who refused to be told what to think simply because her skin was a certain color.
Still, I think it’s an interesting turn of events, and apparently, since you are reading this, I decided it was interesting enough to post here on my blog.
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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.