Every November at The Hill School, entering winter, many school scenes return to campus, such as the first snow on the Quad, the icing of the Dell pond, and, of course, the mysterious flu that seems to take down more people than the last week of fall term assessments.
This year, the flu returned during a chapel talk. The moment everyone entered the solemn chapel, students let out their coughs so violently that it sounded louder than the prelude, echoing off the walls. More and more students began to cough, and within seconds, the chapel sounded nothing like a chapel, but like the emergency clinic of a hospital. In the middle of the chapel seats, one student whispered, “Bro, I can’t even sleep in the chapel today, this is so loud.” For sure, the coughs improved students’ attention in chapel, as no one can even try to close their eyes anymore due to incessant coughing. As the postlude started playing, another student said, “I had no idea what the chapel talk was today. I could not hear a single sentence without being interrupted by a cough.”
As the week progressed, the illness spread faster than ever compared to the past few years. Classrooms became battlegrounds, and teachers were doing the best they could to make sure they were not losing any more students. Mr. McMains and AP US History classes were the main victims. The classes, which relied on intriguing discussions between classmates, suffered deeply after only half of the class showed up. In-class discussions vanished, replaced by silence, like when a speaker asks the student body for questions after a speaker’s talk.
Teachers tried their best to be supportive of the students, but it was ultimately just too overwhelming. Science and math teachers were trying to give lectures, but they were interrupted every 15 seconds. In the next class, students proceeded to find out that their
non-stop talking teacher was sick, wearing a mask, and saying, “Sorry, class. I’m a bit sick today. J-just check Canvas on what to do and what your homework is.”
Dorm life was as expected, worse than it can get. Coughs surrounded the hallways after school ended, and family night felt more like a patient support meeting. Students also felt insecure in their rooms, as some of their roommates were infected, causing a crisis. On the bright side, dorm parents can catch a breath now. They don’t need to go into students’ rooms and urge them to go to sleep now, as students go to bed voluntarily, trying to cure themselves without crowing themselves in the wellness center.
Somehow, the flu actually united the whole school. Students greeted each other with coughs and sneezes, acknowledging each other’s misery. Teachers also united with each other, handing out early dismissals daily. This formed a flu-driven tradition that only the Hill community can understand. You can argue that the flu claimed the final victory, yet everyone survived somehow, and now, accepting the brutal truth, the flu will return next year, at the same time, but perhaps more dramatically and fiercely.