THON and its perfect context

     The IFC/Panhellenic Dance Marathon, commonly known as THON, took place last weekend at the Bryce Jordan Center. This largest student-run philanthropy has the meaningful purpose of raising money to combat pediatric cancer. 

      For forty six hours, dancers cannot sit and sleep- they need to be constantly active for almost two days. To encourage and reassure the dancers, more than 3,000 organizations stand with them and cheer until they almost lose their voices. There are so much at this center-- not just the people, but action and emotion.

      Although its long, tiring and definitely puts much pressure on our legs and our muscles begin to weaken as minutes go by, we stand. We cheer, scream and clap for those dancers who have sacrificed the most essential thing, rest, for children and their families who suffer from cancer.

      As I enjoyed the music and magnitude to be a Penn State student working with others towards a common cause, one event that caught my attention and impressed me the most was the family hour. During this time, families whom have either gained hope from THON or lost their child and wants to spread awareness are free to talk to the students as we cheer and support each other until the last forty sixth hour.

      In school, we are taught to be objective. We are guided by our English teachers to argue from a third person narrative as it is a taboo to put “I” in your sentences. But at THON, the emotions and revelations that were aroused from speakers such as the father of Felicia Rupp didn't need objectivity-- his real life experience and motivation to spread awareness of pediatric cancer couldn't make his argument more valid and reliable.

      Approximately 30,000 Penn State students as the audience, Bryce Jordan Center suddenly turned silent as the father of Felicia Rupp spoke. “I want you [Penn State students] to dance-- I want you to THON. I want you to do this because I don't want you to ever have your child die in your arms.”

With sniffs and quiet sobs around me, I couldn't help myself to cover the streaming tears down my face.

      We walk through life everyday not hearing these heartrending stories. This is why most people are unaware of the extent to how much pediatric cancer changes lives of the victims and their family and friends. THON couldn't have possibly been a better context for these stories to be told—it is the greatest kairotic moment to appreciate those who have survived and recognize those who have not.