Clapping Time
WE STILL CLAP for essential workers each night. The tradition of honoring them may have faded a bit in New York City since we flattened the curve this past spring, but when the church bells across the street chime at 7 p.m., it’s our built-in cue to pause whatever we’re doing and put our hands together. It still feels right, too. I won’t soon forget all that those frontline workers faced, or what they did for us. We cheer on others now, too—the ones fighting fires on the West Coast, and helping people after hurricanes in the South. And quite honestly, who could stop my 6-year-old, who bounds up to the window when he hears those bells sound and says, “Clapping time!”; then follows it up with a hearty “Thank…