It is tradition at Arapahoe High School for the Singers to
carol the hallways during 5th period on the last day before the
winter semester’s finals week. They had just finished a song and were beginning
the next when gunshots silenced their singing.
“Double time to the choir room now,” Ms. Parmenter, their director, shouted.
In full caroling regalia, they scrambled back to the choir room
and hurried into the dressing room, where they locked the door, turned off the
lights, and sat in an uncomfortable quiet broken by indiscernible shouting in
the outside halls and the sniffles of their terrified peers. Knowing only that
shots had been fired and that the school was in a hard lockdown, they sat and
waited in that cheerless room which, only moments before, had rung with, “May
your days be merry and bright.”
I received this text from my mom at about that time:
“Shooting at ahs. Have not heard from Daniel. Prayers are needed.” I stopped in
my tracks on my way to the principal’s office, suddenly unconcerned about
whatever errand brought me there. I returned to my room and knelt behind my
desk to pray. “Father, please bless Daniel. Protect him from harm.” I quickly
searched the web for news on the shooting at my alma mater. All the sites
simply reported “breaking news” that a shooting had occurred and that two
students were confirmed to be injured. Horrible still, but the terror subsided
somewhat when I learned there were no deaths.
And I soon received word that my little brother was
unharmed.
There was only one death that day. The shooter killed
himself. One other student was severely injured and hospitalized in critical
condition, but no one else was seriously wounded. While there was sweet relief
for the many reunited parents and children, the families of those two will have
to wade through deep anguish in the coming days and weeks. My prayers are now
full of gratitude for my family and my brother’s safety, of hope for the
wounded student’s healing, and of sorrow for the family of the shooter. I
cannot imagine how they will pass the holidays this year.
I will return home to Centennial in one week. I will drive
past Arapahoe High School multiple times while I’m there—it’s only a few
minutes from our house, and it is situated at the intersection of two
significant local roads. My hometown will be scarred by this event, and that
will be very perceptible while I’m there.
That will be the backdrop for us this Christmas: The song of
“peace on earth, good will to men” mocked and muted by a confusing act of
malevolence. But the song will not be silenced long. The Singers will gather
again, and, once again in their knickers, scarfs, mittens, and sweaters,
perform their carols. My family will go caroling too. And little by little,
harmony will replace discord, and someday, I believe, “the whole world [will]
send back the song which now the angels sing.” I yearn for that day more
poignantly than ever.
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