Hay Fever in the Homestretch

Marathons end in a sprint, as every runner grinds it out for that final quarter-mile. The legs are burning, the body aches, and the heart is pumping. We can see the finish line, sure. But as of this moment, we are so not there yet.

School years are marathons. And up here in the Northeast, it’s time for that final sprint. Teachers like me are trying to keep our wits about us as we juggle the grading of final exams, the report-card entries and the assorted end-of-year gatherings. Most days, it’s enough to scramble the brain.

Case in point: Before a Sunday of grading papers, I drive over to my church to serve as worship assistant for our morning service. Running late, I slip into the robe room beside the sanctuary, quickly clip on my microphone, then grab a robe out of the closet to dress for service. Once ready, I enter the sanctuary to sit down beside the altar for service. As soon as the service begins, my body triggers an allergic reaction to the dusty robe I’m wearing. I begin sneezing. My nose starts running. And it’s now time for me to read the first and second Bible lessons to the congregation.

I turn on my mike, step up to the podium with handkerchief in hand, and try to read from the Old and New Testaments while also dabbing at my nose. I lose my place a couple of times, get through the readings, and retreat to my seat. After the pastor reads the gospel, I quickly walk back to the robe room, where there are tissues in an adjoining bathroom.

I get there and let out a giant sneeze. Then I blow my nose. I blow again. “Whew!” I say to myself.

Then I hear a knock on the bathroom door. The communion assistant is giggling. He says the following words to me: “Turn your mike off.”

Wow.

Yes, I am a teacher and it is June. I am sneezing and blowing my nose into a live microphone before a stunned church congregation. Instead of a sermon, they’re getting Hynes hay fever. This is what it’s like in that last quarter-mile of the marathon.

I did make sure to turn off the mike before I cursed. Then I sat down in a chair in the robe room, trying to decide how to play this. The embarrassment was intense, but I thought back to the movie Naked Gun, and recalled the famous scene in that film in which Leslie Nielsen’s character steps into a bathroom without turning off his mike. Yes, it could have been much worse than a sneeze and a couple of nose blows. Much worse.

So I walked back into the sanctuary, continued my work as worship assistant, then asked folks afterward if they had enjoyed my impromptu entertainment. The teens in attendance had loved it all, and so we talked about just what might have happened had my problem not been a dusty robe, but instead an overload of baked beans. In the end, I was pleased with myself for turning this embarrassment into something that I could laugh about along with others. I came home and told my wife, and it made her day.

So back to that marathon again. We’re almost there, teachers. Hang on tight. Keep on running. But please, take it from me – keep a tissue handy.