School Shooting

As I parked my car in the school parking lot, a police cruiser pulled in behind me.  We parked and walked in together, making small talk, but avoiding the discussion of why he was in our building today. 

 I walked up to the door, using my keycard to buzz us both in.  I walked him to the office (as protocol dictates), and found the principal and assistant principal there, making small talk with a second officer.  Everyone was smiling and pleasant, trying to pretend it was just another day. 

This morning, I had an email from the Superintendent.  And another from our director of Social Emotional Learning.  But, sadly, the contents were familiar, because we’ve been here before. 

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Here’s what we need to do today.  

Reassure students that schools are safe places.  (Are they?)

Talk to students in a developmentally appropriate way.  (When does mass murder become a developmentally appropriate topic?)

Be mindful of your own feelings about school violence.  (Translated as: Don’t cry.  Don’t panic.  Don’t let them know you’re scared, too.)

Empower students to take action. See something, Say something.  (Why can’t the adults take action, so the students don’t have to?)

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It’s not just another day, but we all go on as if it is.  Truthfully, most of our students are blissfully unaware.  They spent their evenings playing Fortnite, not watching CNN.  But there are a few who are reeling.  Who are scared.  Who feel vulnerable. 

And when you make eye contact with another adult in the hallway, there is a brief flicker.  We’re not okay.  We’re pretending, and maybe we can convince the kids, but we can’t convince each other.  

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We speculate on our lunch breaks.  And we imagine.  What if it were us?  How would it have looked here?  Are our protocols enough?  What would we have done? 

Would we recognize a kid as not being a student?  Would we stop him? Could we stop him?  What would we use to break the window and climb out? 

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The kids thought we would do an active shooter drill today.  I promised them we wouldn’t.  It would be too traumatic.  Too insensitive.  Too close to reality.  

But what if I’m wrong?  Or what if something does happen?  Have I told them too much? Am I being too reassuring? 

What’s the balance?  Is there a balance?  Damn it.  

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More silent speculation on my prep period.  Have we had students capable of this?  Did we see it?  Did we help them enough?  Did we make it worse? Who might have fallen through the cracks?  Who might be a target?  It’s so much easier to see red flags in hindsight. 

I flip through social media on my break.  Already the posts have become polarized.  Gun control.  More mental health supports.  Police in schools.  

And I can’t argue about it because I feel like screaming.  SOMETHING.  TRY SOMETHING.  And then if it doesn’t work, TRY SOMETHING ELSE.  But stop talking.  Stop posting.  Stop bickering and DO SOMETHING.  

The teachers have done all we can.  We have ID badges and keys and checkpoints and cameras and intercoms to ensure that we know who is in the building.  We have social emotional curriculum and bullying protocols and zero tolerance policies.  We have close connections with community resources so we can refer families for help.  We run active shooter drills.  We practice barricading our doors, hiding, running away, throwing things at an intruder.  

Many of us would literally sacrifice our SELVES for the safety of your children.  

And our elected officials just keep sending thoughts and prayers.