Census Form
by Joyce Roberson-Steele, LMSW
The COVID-19 pandemic struck everyone in New York City, like me, hard. It was an unexpected change to our lives that swept in and shook us to the core. It pushed us out of our routines and removed the comfort of the security we took for granted. Our NYC fast-paced lifestyle was suddenly called to a halt. Each day, we reviewed social media, talked to our friends and neighbors, and watched Governor Andrew Cuomo’s briefings. Daily, he showered us with the only realistic measurable data that we could use to inform decisions on how to save ourselves from the clutches of this virus.
As a social worker, and a current doctoral student, I conversed with my peers and pondered how to soothe the worry and unrest that we and our clients faced. We wanted to do what we always do during a crisis and return ourselves from painful upheaval to normal functioning.
I have long accepted the complexity of navigating the duty to my profession, to my family, and to those that I pledged as a social worker to help navigate through systems of bureaucracy in order to respond to food insecurity and healthcare disparities. The difference was, now, I was in a place where I had similar needs to those of my clients.
As the food, cleaning equipment, and toiletries flew off the shelves, I started to feel as though my world was shrinking. Going to the store became a challenge in an epic adventure. Standing in lines at a new distance, covering my face and hands, all seemed like it came out of a movie about post-apocalyptic society. Ensuring my family had enough provisions became a priority, when just days before, it was not even a mere thought on my mind. We always had plenty; we had unlimited access; we lived in the “City That Never Sleeps.”
As a gerontological social worker, I could not help but focus on how the pandemic affected the older population. Pre-COVID-19, I was usually able to solve problems, but the pandemic left every day with uncertainty I had no control over. Pre-pandemic, I spent my days conversing with older adults to make sure they did not live in isolation. I educated them and their caregivers on the importance of socialization and communication. The COVID-19 crisis made me feel as if I were a record, on a turntable, spinning backwards. Every professional suggestion I was accustomed to providing was no longer appropriate for the times. And it was all a little too personal, too. I had to tell my father that his grandchildren and great-grandchildren could not be with him for any lengthy amount of time. I had to instruct him to avoid going outside, “and if you have to, wear your mask, wear your gloves, and wash your hands and wash them again!”
I knew this crisis really upset my Dad. He usually had a great deal of energy and walked my grandchildren to school some days for exercise. We live together with four generations helping each other and co-existing in harmony. Pre-COVID-19, he would frequent the local stores in the Stuyvesant Heights area of Brooklyn, where he lived for 87 years. He is one of the guys who likes to stand around with the other men in his age group and talk about old times. Now, we’re telling him to not leave the house. I would check in with him, in person, regularly just to ensure he was all right and to provide him some conversation. I felt helpless and hopeless, not just as a daughter, but as a social worker, too.
Early every morning, I made a run to the store to buy more items for the house. I would always ask my Dad if he needed anything. He really did not need anything, but one morning he asked me to check in on one of his good buddies from the neighborhood, “Mr. Al.” He said Mr. Al was answering his phone but not sounding like himself. I wondered if Mr. Al needed food, but my dad said that wouldn’t be necessary because Mr. Al was receiving Meals on Wheels and donations from the local church. Mr. Al is very proud and doesn’t accept help easily.
My Dad called Mr. Al to see if there was anything I could do to help him. Mr. Al did not seem interested in my help. But then my Dad told Mr. Al that I had just helped him complete his own census form, and suggested that Mr. Al allow me to help him with his census form. At first, Mr. Al declined, saying that the census was not important, but he let me, and my husband, stop by his apartment anyway. He told me that he doesn’t like giving out his personal information. He told me that completing the census would not make a difference. I reassured Mr. Al that the census is extremely important and determines the much-needed funding that comes to our community, such as funding for the Meals on Wheels he currently uses. I reassured him that the information he was providing would not be harmful to him in any way. Our conversation became intensely political, as Mr. Al expressed his distrust in the current government. He eventually allowed me to help him complete the form. It was rewarding to know that I was able to help Mr. Al view his participation in a new way. I told him “You have to be in it to win it,” and he agreed jokingly with the Lotto commercial adage.
While we were at Mr. Al’s, my husband cleaned the ceiling fan. After the census form was finalized, we helped him shred some extra mail and documents that were lying around. While going through a pile of papers, Mr. Al passed me an envelope that he was not so sure about. It was an application for an absentee ballot for the upcoming New York State primary election. I suggested to Mr. Al that he complete this. Once again, he was hesitant, because he did not trust the mail. He traditionally voted in person. I explained that he didn’t have to complete the absentee ballot once he got it, but it would be good to have it, in case the lines at the polls are long on primary day, or it’s not safe to wait on line on Primary Day. This was during early stages of the pandemic in May 2020, when we really wanted to ensure all seniors had every option available to them for safety against COVID-19. I told Mr. Al that I had helped my Dad fill out the same form. So, we completed that form together, too. Later that evening, Mr. Al called my Dad, complimenting me and thanking my Dad for “loaning out his daughter.”
What began as a simple visit to appease my father’s concern for his friend turned out to be one of accomplishment and much-needed interpersonal bonding. I grew up listening to men like my Dad and Mr. Al give us advice and instructions on the importance of voting and having a voice in your community. Now, our roles are reversed, and I am tasked with the responsibility to ensure that the older adults in my life are aware of their options relating to safety during COVID-19, voting, and the census response.
Like my fellow social workers, I joined this profession to make a significant difference in this world. Helping older men complete their census forms and exercise their right to vote was not how I had envisioned my contribution to society during the pandemic. I expected to be at the church passing out food or providing grief counseling to families of COVID-19 victims. But instead, I had the honor of not only repaying those jewels of knowledge back to my Dad and his friend, but using my social work skills as a gift to others in a time of unprecedented crisis.
Joyce Roberson-Steele, LMSW, has worked in the field of gerontology as a manager for the City of New York for more than 14 years. She is currently a lecturer at Medgar Evers College, where she teaches gerontology, substance abuse, and community organization courses. She is a 3rd year PhD candidate at Wurzweiler University in New York City.