By Lane Maguire
It’s that time of year again. Time to bake gingerbread men, hang ornaments and stuff stockings. Tis the season for merriment and joy; the season for sickness, fainting and…paramedics. Now you may be wondering how fainting, sickness and paramedics fit into the same description as other jolly Christmas traditions. It all began about six years ago in small village, known as St. Peter’s School. It began with the annual Christmas Program: a tradition loved by many parents and dreaded by most students.
Let me first explain how this Christmas Program works. It is organized months in advance by the music teacher and then performed shortly before Christmas break. All students from kindergarten to eighth grade are required to participate. And as students age, the singing worsens. Eighth-graders, embarrassed by the prospect of bellowing “Jingle Bell Rock” in front of family members and friends, begin lip-syncing. Their hunched shoulders and either blank or grimaced faces never disguise their discomfort. Yet parents, seemingly oblivious to this discomfort, crowd the pews with cameras in hand. Others jostle in the side aisles for that prime picture-taking position. Still others are left standing in the back of the church, as the pews fill quickly. All of this jostling and crowding just so parents can see their cute little dressed-up babies, many with plastered smiles, share their “talent” and spread the holiday cheer. So as you can see, the Christmas Program is painful as is…and the paramedics haven’t even arrived.
As the program nears its debut, rehearsals are moved from the comfort of the music room to the Church, where gleaming spot-lights, tall risers, a lingering aroma of incense, and little rest between songs often gives way to sickness and fainting…and in fourth grade, the arrival of paramedics.
The rehearsal had begun like any other. We’d been practicing for probably 20 minutes, trying to perfect our tone – something our music teacher must have known was impossible anyway. Our only advice was to not buckle our knees. It happened so suddenly, I don’t even remember who it was. The next thing I knew, the teachers were laying a student in one of the pews, trying to revive him. Soon afterward, the teachers rushed to find a trashcan for the next victim. And from there, the students dropped like flies, one by one whether consciously or not, requesting leave from practice.
I began to sweat with nervousness as I glanced around at my remaining classmates wondering who would be next. Would it be me? I bent my knees and tried to avoid the glare of the spotlights. Only a handful of students remained now, including, current STA junior, Peyton Gajan. As one of the tallest students, Gajan stood on the top riser. Feeling suddenly dizzy, she began to sway. No one was able to react quick enough to catch her before she fell and landed on the marble floor below, cracking her head on the step leading up to the altar. Instant panic erupted, yet luckily the paramedics arrived quickly. Gajan was able to recite her name, address, phone number, etc. She was taken to the hospital where she was given seven staples.
As for the rest of us? We spent the remainder of the day watching Disney movies in an attempt to take our minds off of that traumatic experience. As for the program that year? Well, as they say, the show must go on – and it did, but without risers, which to this day are no longer used in the program. My advice for future programs? Dim the lights, shorten the rehearsals or maybe even forgot the program entirely– it’s just too painful.
