THINK PIECE
Moment of Silence by Ivy Santos '10
I applied to NMH in Eighth grade and was rejected. Apparently I had unfinished business at Bement and the teachers there thought I needed some closure before I moved on. I was completely crushed. You see, my father went here. He’s class of ’60. He hated it. He was that little kid from Venezuela, a nerd, young for his grade, and not particularly socially adept. He didn’t have many friends. But he knows the value of happiness. Even though his time here was painful, filled with bullies and bible study, required chapel and bomb threat drills, he still loves NMH. I visited this campus countless times as a child. My father still runs the pie race, and won a pie every year up until three years ago. He also goes to Vespers every year, and has countless stories about sneaking over to the Northfield campus to visit girls, or fermenting apple cider in the windows of Crossley. He found happiness here because he knew to appreciate the little things in life.
Senior year my father was the lamplighter of one lamplighter way. He would ride around school on his bike as night fell and turn on all the lights around campus. To this day he still is amazed by the beauty of Mount Hermon at sunset.
I have learned from my father. Every morning I leave Mackinnon for breakfast at 7:25. As I walk the path that crosses behind the new admissions building I watch the sun rise. Some days a fog fills the valley and I feel as though I’m on a floating island in the sky, completely removed from the horrors of life, protected from those who would harm me. Other days frost or ice covers every sprig and branch and the world becomes a glistening land of crystal and gold as the sun rises over the mountains. The cottages look just like little gingerbread houses during the winter, something one might buy at Yankee candle, and I imagine gumdrops stuck to the eves and little freshman cookies, all outlined in icing.
There is a single tree standing at one point along that pathway; at the beginning of winter it still had its bright red leaves shining like a cloud of cardinals, and I took a picture. The sky was grey, the ground was grey, everything smelled like molasses, but this one tree refused to give in and the ice on its tips only managed to show off its stunning colors.
When I hear people saying that they can’t wait for vacation, can’t wait for school to be over, can’t wait for graduation, I think of that tree, or that sunrise. Yes, every morning I’m up at that ungodly hour, but how else would I be able to see that amazing spectacle? Yes, in the winter everything can be gray, the world can be full of mud and drizzle, but even winter ice can make a tree shine, even the rain sometimes ends in a rainbow.
Maybe the year I missed helped me appreciate this school even more. I know what a privilege it is to go here, because I almost didn’t. I know how beautiful this world we live in can be because I’ve been schooled in much homelier situations. If you are one of those waiting for the future to arrive remember this: if you only look to the future, there will be no past to look back on. When I am my father’s age, about to have my 50th reunion, I want to be able to look back on my years at NMH and remember more than AP scores, musical recordings, and bags under my eyes. I want to remember those days when life just went according to plan, when I appreciated the world around me, when everything seemed magical. Please, in these next few moments, think of what you want to remember of this place, fix those things in your minds and hearts, and never let them go. Let us be silent.
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