I’m a teacher.
Middle School level.
Last night, many of my students watched, passed around the videos on social media that other students made as they crouched on the floors of their classrooms in their Lockdown Positions — whimpering, screaming, and shaking as gun shots filled the sound track.
Last night, when the news came through about the Coach stepping in front of bullets, my Husband’s head whipped around to look at me, and his strong face became soft and contorted. “Would you do that? Would YOU do that?” What could I say in response? He knew the most probable answer, at least, I think it’s the most probable answer. All I could do was sadly look at him and lamely reassure him with, “I love you.” His eyes filled with tears as he nodded. What else could you do but step in front of the bullets?
On the way to school, I felt sad and tired. I wasn’t sure if the shooting would come up. How would I … ? What would I … ? How much had they seen … ? And, all I’d come up with by the time I was approaching my classroom, was, “Ah, shit.”
My students usually fill my classroom before I do since another teacher lets them in and watches over them until I can get there. (I use a wheelchair to travel distances, so I wait until the halls empty to more easily navigate the halls.) As I approached, I heard their normal chatter, and I automatically did what I do every morning as I roll in — I double-checked that my classroom door was set to auto-lock from the outside if closed.
This daily routine is so just normal, that even I, the one doing it barely notices that I’m doing it ...
But, not today.
— The chatter stopped.
— All sound and movement froze,
— In that sudden way that seems to change the air,
— Clogging it with a sickening, expectant, heavy wariness,
— As if someone had pumped in an unseen darkness,
— Filled with dread and danger,
I looked up to see my precious students’ eyes locked on me. Our eyes met in the shared knowledge of WHY I was doing this normal. daily. task.
Every morning, my first action as a teacher is to guard against my kids getting massacred.
Their eyes were like perfect, frozen O’s until one of my dear, little ones began to cry. Her shoulders sagged, and her body began to shake. Her best friend instinctively reached out to pull her close in a hug. Their eyes seemed to fill with questions, fright, and pain.
Could it happen here?
What would you do?
Would you be able to keep us safe?
So, I asked them if this was about the shooting in Florida, and would they like to practice the Lockdown Drill in our room, just to make sure we had it down? I don’t know why I suggested it, but they all nodded vigorously and seriously. That was indeed what they wanted to do and the sooner the better!
So,
This morning, before I even took attendance, my homeroom had a little Lockdown Drill.
I said, “Lockdown, Lockdown.”
And, they all gratefully moved into positions — like the one in the picture.
When they were safely in position (crouching in the out-of-line-of sight-behind-the big-demo-desk-on the floor), we whispered about how this would make us safe. How we could go out the back door that our classroom happens to “luckily have,” if we got that chance and it made sense and if I yelled, “RUN!” Where they should run to, and why they should go there, and would I be able to make it there with them … being handicapped and all. I jokingly boasted that I thought I’d be able to beat them, there!
The laughter all around and their skill at being able to do the drill so well reassured them, and cleared the air in the room. We were able to get up and begin our day.
Today, my students and I had to go through ^^^ THIS SHIT ^^^ to just start our school day, and
tonight, I find myself exhausted with rage that
tomorrow will still not be
the time to talk about how we are going to stop murdering and terrorizing our children.