I was in college when Columbine happened, and I vividly remember hours in front the TV in a rental living room with my roommates, watching it unfold and trying, in horror, to wrap our minds around what was happening. Fast forward almost twenty years, and I’m a high school teacher at a large public high school and a mother to three young children, the oldest of whom is a kindergartener. It is hard to believe how commonplace school violence has become…how a sick combination of unhappiness and media coverage has made unloading a gun into an innocent crowd seem like a credible option to hurting young people. Every new school shooting grieves both halves of my heart. My teacher heart knows how hard teachers work to create safe, comfortable learning environments while knowing the unthinkable could happen, and my mama heart just wants to know that my baby is able to learn in a safe place that doesn’t feel like a prison. I’m torn between feeling comforted when I see locks on the door and saddened that they have to be there.
My sweet baby boy (he’s only five) had a trio of drills during his very first week of school: tornado, fire, and lockdown. All things we desperately hope will never happen. All things that very well might. Those drills certainly have an impact on him. Several weeks ago, a fighter plane buzzed over our house as part of a flyover at a Reds game; my oldest came running to me frantically, asking if it was a tornado. He did not know what a tornado was prior to this school year; I never talked about tornadoes with him because of my own deep-seated fear…a fear I developed a result of tornado safety week in elementary school. I didn’t want to pass my anxiety to him, but he’s found it anyway. I can’t tell you how sad that makes me. I wish he could stay innocent forever.
And yet, the reality is that none of us is ever truly safe, and we never have been. We can do everything in our power to combat the evil in our world (and we should), but we will never fully erase it. And with that in mind, the best plan is to teach our kids to be smart in dangerous situations. Total innocence becomes a liability, and I’d rather my child be aware than become a statistic. The staff training in my high school has shifted from the traditional lock-down approach (where students and staff huddle in a locked classroom and hope for the best) to an approach that empowers us to defend ourselves. We have been taught to barricade doors and how to throw textbooks at an intruder to disarm him or her. Did you know that the average textbook can stop a bullet? I have some freshmen who would gladly sacrifice their grammar textbooks for the greater good. We know that people who fight back can often lessen the carnage. We know that shooters are often deterred by even the simplest barricade; they will keep moving in search of easier targets. These drills are scary, even though we know they are staged; I was shocked that my heart pounded and my body tingled in fear as we waited for the (fake) gunshots we knew were coming and prepared to ambush the (fake) attacker. Yet, as a staff member, this training makes me feel prepared and empowered. If the unthinkable happens, at least I will have the tools to confront it instead of cowering under a desk. I hope the people who teach my children will be trained the same way.
While our student body doesn’t get explicit ALICE training (and I’m not sure they should), I do use lockdown drills to talk to my students about what we would do, especially in the wake of an event like what happened in Oregon and now, as of yesterday, in our own backyard. I’ve pointed out the furniture that would make an effective barricade, and told them where we would gather in the classroom. Most importantly, they know how important it is to listen to me: that I will have information that determines whether we should flee or stay and fight. Obedience in these situations is critical. I am careful in the words I choose; I am honest, but not alarmist. I try to walk the line between being prepared and being terrified.
No one wants to know that their kindergartener has to do a lock-down drill. But here’s the thing: our broken world is not limited to madmen with guns. We know this. That’s why I’ve had to teach my kids to seek out a mom with kids if they get separated from me. It’s why I’ve taught them not to go anywhere with a stranger. It’s why I’ve taught them to always, always, always put their seat belts on and what to do if someone tries to touch them inappropriately. It’s why we talk about fire safety and what to do if they smell smoke. All these conversations break my heart into a few more tiny pieces, but preparedness is the way we fight back; ignorance makes us easy targets. I want my babies to hang onto that blissful innocence, but I know they can’t keep it forever.
I hope my students’ parents feel confident that if the unthinkable happens, I am prepared and willing to do everything possible to keep their babies safe. I hope they feel they can trust our administrators to make the right call in tense situations. I know the staff at my son’s school loves him dearly and I believe they are as prepared as they possibly can be. And if a lockdown drill ever inspires the kind of fear in my kiddos that other moms tell me they can, we’ll approach that as a family the same way we do all the other big questions that keep us up at night: with a mix of honesty, comfort, and faith.
