Leo '05 Graduate
Some people think anesthesia is easy. After all, you just put someone to sleep, watch them, and then wake them up when the surgery is done, right? There’s an old saying in the business that anyone can put someone to sleep, but only a skilled anesthetist can wake you up. That is what I feel Todd Peterson did for me almost 15 years ago. We were told today at the BCHS parents’ chorus meeting to tell our stories. Mine begins in eighth grade.
I was somewhat of a pariah in middle school, and although at times I worked hard to maintain that reputation, a part of me always wanted to belong and be accepted. I had decided not to join marching band in high school, despite my tenuous involvement with band in middle school, and I was worried that I would further be isolated and unhappy. Then one fateful day, Mr. Peterson heard me reporting the weather on the morning announcements. He sought me out after band class and asked if I had any interest in singing. I quickly told him I couldn’t sing, but he said he could teach me and could really use some more male voices in the choir. As a non-religious agnostic, I recoiled from the connotations that the word “choir” elicited, and I politely told him I would consider it. I had every intention to just fly under the radar and dedicate myself to my academics in order to get a scholarship and find my niche in the world during college.
I finally decided to give chorus a try, promising myself that I would just drop the class the moment anyone started preaching to me or tried to convert me. The first day of class was tough, it seemed everyone already knew each other and had already made friends. Even other freshmen knew upper classmen from their previous years in chorus at middle school. Mr. Peterson saw me standing awkwardly in the corner and he introduced me to the bass section leader. I nervously sat next to him and did my best to keep up during the warm-ups. To my surprise, I wasn’t half bad, and we started to sound decent by the end of the hour. I left class unconvinced if I would still drop out, but interested about the songs we’d be singing, and about the connections everyone seemed to have with each other and Mr. Peterson. In the upcoming weeks, my suspicion turned to curiosity as I learned how to sing in Latin and how to blend 100 different voices together into hair-raising harmonies. I finally started to understand that this was much more than a music class when September 11th happened, and the choir came together as a family to mourn for our nation. And much to my surprise, I had many shoulders to lean on and cry. I realized Mr. Peterson was the common denominator, and he had found a way to forge a bridge between all of us. There was an unspoken truce in room 201, and regardless if you were a theater geek, a nerd, a jock, or a band geek, we were all family in choir. Mr. Peterson imparted many significant life lessons on us, caring enough to give “soap-box” speeches to us on various topics like dating, college, and life in general. We mourned together as a family when life happened and siblings, parents, and even classmates died.
Our first concert was at St. John’s the Evangelist church. I was uneasy at the prospect of singing in a church that I did not belong to. But we arrived, put on our blue robes, and began filling the space with our harmonies and songs. I realized that while some of my classmates were having religious experiences, I was having a spiritual experience all of my own, with the music. It was at that moment that I realized this group was so much more than a simple class in high school. And to my relief, the concert was worldly in nature with various songs from different cultures and religions. The Barron Collier High School choir has afforded me the opportunity to sing at ground zero in NYC, in various chapels and cathedrals in Germany, Austria, and Prague, and even a concentration camp. We competed in many national festivals and always placed within the top three groups. Guest conductors marveled at how musical we were and with how much expression we sang. It was as if we were one organism focused on producing top-quality, passionate music, and Todd Peterson deserved all of the accolades. All he ever asked in return was that we work hard, dedicate ourselves to the music, and treat each other with love and unity. Mr. Peterson helped us cradle the world with Unity at the ground zero memorial, and he helped us connect to the planet when we sang at Terezin, a concentration camp for women and children. These images are forever branded into my heart and soul, and I can call upon them perfectly at will. Even a decade and a half later, I still have this music inside of me, and these harmonies play over and over in my heart.
Todd Peterson had a profound impact on my life, and he has made me the man I am today. In present day, I am a certified registered nurse anesthetist and an adjunct faculty at an anesthesia college. I can emphatically attest that Todd Peterson brought out the best parts of my character, and taught me how to live with integrity and peace. I have since sang in various choral groups, some that might even be technically and musically superior to the BCHS chorus, but none have impacted me like what I experienced with Todd Peterson’s choir. I am shocked that anyone would be bothered that the chorus performs concerts at Moorings Presbyterian Church. Choral music has its origin in sacred spaces and religious temples. Moorings Presbyterian Church was designed to enhance and cradle the human voice, and its acoustics are matched by very few structures in Naples. As a non-religious agnostic, I never once felt harassed, offended, or pressured to sing in a church. I did so because I wanted to sing and be a part of this family. I am deeply disappointed that the ACLU, an organization I have supported and championed as a supporter of equal rights, would take a stand against the BCHS choral program.
In Unity,
Leo