City of plague:A new Yorker’s pandemic chronicle Pt 24.

The Spring My Daughter Graduated During the Pandemic

One afternoon, my younger daughter, Rainbow, came home from school with a question that seemed simple at the time.

“Dad,” she said while dropping her backpack near the door, “our school is organizing a senior spring trip to a park outside the city on March 5. Should I go?”

I looked up from the kitchen table where I had been scrolling through news on my phone. For weeks, headlines about a mysterious virus had been spreading across Asia. Every day brought new reports—new cities locked down, new hospitals overwhelmed.

Yet here in New York, life still felt normal.

I studied her face before answering.

“Rainbow,” I asked carefully, “can students choose not to go?”

She shrugged.

“Yes, technically. But the teacher said this will probably be the last extracurricular activity we have before graduation. She hopes everyone can attend unless there’s a special reason.”

Her voice carried a hint of hesitation.

“So,” I asked, “do you want to go?”

Rainbow leaned against the chair and thought for a moment.

“To be honest, I didn’t really want to,” she admitted. “But if I don’t go, the teacher might think I’m being difficult. So… maybe I should just go.”

It was only mid-February, but news of the virus—later known to the world as COVID-19—was spreading quickly across Asia and Europe.

I had been following the situation obsessively. In my mind, nothing seemed more important than understanding how this outbreak might evolve.

Still, at that moment, New York felt untouched. The virus seemed like a distant storm happening somewhere else on the planet.

Besides, the trip would be by school bus, not the crowded subway.

That felt safer.

After a pause, I nodded.

“Alright,” I said. “Then sign up. How much is the fee?”

“Thirty dollars,” she said with a smile. “I have to give it to the teacher tomorrow.”

She looked relieved, even excited.

I handed her the money.

Neither of us realized how quickly the world was about to change.

The First Doubt

Not long after Rainbow submitted the trip fee, news broke that a case of COVID-19 had been detected in California.

That evening, I called her over.

“Rainbow,” I said, trying to sound calm, “now that the virus has appeared in the U.S., do you think the school will cancel the trip?”

She waved the idea away.

“Dad, that case is in California. That’s thousands of miles from New York.”

She laughed lightly.

“What are you worried about?”

Her logic was simple, and in a way, convincing.

I said nothing more.

But something uneasy had begun to stir inside me.

When the Virus Reached New York

On March 1, everything changed.

The first confirmed COVID-19 case appeared in Manhattan.

The news made my stomach tighten.

That evening, I asked Rainbow again.

“Is your school still planning the trip?”

She sighed.

“Dad, yes. The teacher hasn’t said anything about canceling it.”

Her impatience was obvious.

But my anxiety wouldn’t disappear.

Viruses didn’t travel in straight lines on maps. They moved invisibly, silently, unpredictably.

Still, I couldn’t interfere with a school activity based only on my fears.

So I did the only thing I could do.

I hoped.

And I prayed that nothing would happen.

A Disappointing Trip

When Rainbow returned from the trip that afternoon, she looked strangely upset.

Not sick.

Just… angry.

I approached cautiously.

“Rainbow,” I asked, “wasn’t the trip fun?”

She dropped her jacket on the chair.

“Fun?” she said loudly. “How could it be fun?”

I blinked.

“What happened? Was there a problem on the road?”

“No,” she replied irritably. “The problem was hardly anyone came.”

She explained that fewer than half the students had shown up.

Most had given the same excuse: their parents didn’t allow them to go.

Rainbow kicked off her shoes.

“If I had known so many people would stay home,” she said, “I wouldn’t have gone either.”

I tried to comfort her.

“Well,” I said gently, “the important thing is that you came back safe.”

But inside, I couldn’t help blaming the school.

The virus had already arrived in New York.

Yet people were still pretending life was normal.

Schools Shut Down

About two weeks later, the situation escalated rapidly.

One Friday afternoon Rainbow burst through the door again.

“Dad!” she said breathlessly. “Starting next Monday, all New York City public schools will close because of the virus.”

The announcement had been made by Andrew Cuomo, the governor of New York State, together with Bill de Blasio, the mayor of New York City.

I felt immediate relief.

“Good,” I said. “I’ve been hoping for this all week.”

Keeping students at home felt like the safest decision possible.

But Rainbow looked worried.

“Dad… if school is closed, how will we finish our classes?”

“The school will figure something out,” I assured her.

She hesitated.

“What about our graduation ceremony?”

That question was heavier.

She had already paid $250 for graduation expenses—caps, gowns, venue rental, and the yearbook.

Rainbow had always been careful with money. Even small amounts mattered to her.

“If the pandemic improves,” I said gently, “maybe the ceremony can still happen.”

She frowned.

“What if it’s canceled? Will they return the money?”

“I’m sure the school will handle it fairly,” I said.

Then she revealed her biggest fear.

“I still have two final exams left,” she said quietly. “If we can’t take them… what if I don’t graduate?”

I smiled.

“You will graduate. I promise.”

“How do you know?”

“I heard Governor Cuomo say schools might move to online classes.”

Her eyes widened.

“Really? Our teacher didn’t say anything.”

“Give it time,” I said.

“In difficult situations, people always find new solutions.”

The Beginning of Online School

On March 16, all New York City public schools officially closed.

A week later, on March 23, remote learning began.

It was the first time any of us had experienced something like it.

At first, Rainbow struggled.

Sometimes she forgot the time of a video meeting with her teacher. Sometimes the camera angle was wrong and the teacher couldn’t see her face clearly.

One afternoon I heard her groan from the living room.

“This is impossible,” she said.

I sat beside her.

“You’ll get used to it,” I told her.

And gradually, she did.

After two weeks, she moved confidently between virtual classes, online assignments, and video discussions with teachers.

Watching her adapt gave me quiet comfort during those anxious months of isolation.

The Surprise

Two months later, Rainbow finished her remaining exams.

High school was officially over.

But another surprise followed.

Out of nearly 200 students in her grade, Rainbow ranked second academically.

That meant she had been selected as a student speaker for the school’s virtual graduation ceremony.

One evening she approached me nervously.

“Dad… what should I say in my speech?”

I was surprised.

“Didn’t the teacher give instructions?”

She shook her head.

“No. They said it’s up to us.”

So we began brainstorming together.

I suggested she talk about her journey—from entering the school years earlier, to the friendships she had made, to the teachers who had guided her.

“And don’t forget,” I added, “this pandemic will be part of your generation’s story forever.”

We spent hours rehearsing.

Sometimes I acted as the camera operator.

Sometimes we argued about lighting, posture, or wording.

“Dad,” she protested at one point, “you’re being too strict!”

“I’m trying to make the video perfect,” I replied.

Eventually we recorded a version we both liked.

She sent it to the principal.

The reply came back quickly.

The principal loved it.

Rainbow and I finally relaxed.

A Graduation Unlike Any Other

On June 28, our family gathered around the computer to watch the virtual ceremony.

Students, teachers, parents—everyone joined online.

When Rainbow’s speech appeared on the screen, I felt unexpectedly emotional.

Her voice was calm.

Her words were thoughtful.

For a moment, I forgot about the virus outside.

But only for a moment.

Because while we celebrated this small family victory, the pandemic continued raging through the city.

Hospitals filled.

Ambulance sirens echoed day and night through Manhattan.

Even one of the world’s most respected infectious disease experts, W. Ian Lipkin from Columbia University, was infected with COVID-19.

When that news spread, fear deepened across the city.

If even the experts could fall ill, what chance did ordinary people have?

New York felt like a city under siege.

And yet, inside our small apartment, we held onto one fragile piece of hope.

Rainbow had graduated.

Even in the darkest season, life had continued forward.