What I Learned in Oklahoma: Distantly Social

Distance doesn’t mean much when you grow up in Oklahoma. Everything is “just a short drive away” or, at least, it’s worth the trip. Driving to see people was part of the journey in this state. The drive was time for those rockin’ playlists, the funny stories told among friends, or even looking over the plains as horses and cattle roamed together. There was a sense of excited freedom when you traveled to see those you cared for.

I miss those moments more each day. I miss them more than Stroud’s The Rock Cafe’s oatmeal pie à la mode with scalding hot coffee.

Growing up in the suburbs of Yukon, I was raised in a tight-knit family. In a sense, the four of us grew up together; learning from each other’s mistakes and finding out who we were in the process. I guess that’s what happens when two love-crazed kids have two children of their own before they’re both twenty-one. At twenty-five, it’s still hard to comprehend the things they had to go through just to see my brother and I prosper.

But as one person in an extended family larger than the Partridge, Brady, and Ogle families combined, I’m no stranger to driving long distances to see people. Perhaps that’s what made this journalism gig second nature. But it was those I love that made all those trips worth it. I’ll admit that time and obligations got the best of me well before the pandemic had the entire world at a standstill. If I wasn’t wrapped up in various projects, those people I wanted to see were wrapped up in their own lives. This is the nature of time, I suppose.

While time moved on, so did we. My parents and brother moved to San Antonio, leaving me here to finish college. We remained in contact as much as we could and saw each other on holidays. Since quarantine, we try to call at least twice a week. That’s why I found it peculiar when my Mom pitched the idea of a family Zoom call.

Personally, I dreaded the idea of yet another conference call. And yet I agreed. We must pick our battles, even amid the apocalypse. Sitting here, smiling as I write these words, I’m thankful I didn’t push back. Seconds before the green light on my laptop activated, I heard my mother.

“Brandon? Brandon! Hi! Say hi, everyone,” Mom says excitedly.

There, on my computer screen, sat eight family members I hadn’t seen since before COVID-19 held our world captive. A slight lump caught in my throat before I pushed it down with all my might. Trust me, nothing’s worse than someone crying at the start of a Zoom call. On the first night, much of the conversation focused around when we would be let out and what we missed from our pre-pandemic lives. Personally, I’d give anything to sit out on The Mule’s patio in Oklahoma City with a cold Okie Mule, a hot Macaroni Pony, and my friends. Better yet, I’d love to step inside the Oklahoma Today offices to see everyone outside of a Google Hangout chat room. Those will happen someday, I promise myself.

That night reminded me of something I only heard in passing from my father over a decade ago: “Distance means nothing to those you care about. Tell ’em when you can. Tell it often.”

Since then, I call five people a day simply to check in. It’s not much, but I try.

Here’s What I Learned in Oklahoma this week: Distance isn’t a factor for most Oklahomans. Now, more than ever, we need to hear one another. Be sure to call and check on people, no matter what the circumstances. Social distancing is one of the keys to ending this craziness, but never forget about those you care for. Just to hear your neighbor might be the peace we all need.

Written By

Brandon King