It still lurks in my mind’s “crannies,” jumping to the forefront of my thoughts more often than I’d like. It was a single sentence – uttered by someone whose name I don’t know – imparting an important truth usually requiring paragraphs, chapters or even volumes. It was uttered in a large room where a few dozen people were scattered, dutifully obeying mandates of maskwearing and remaining separated from other folks by the length of two yardsticks. Surely the handful of words – carefully chosen – warranted consideration by all who heard them. “I’m worried less about who we are than about who we ...