It's that time of year.
The time of year when we finish up the last bit of your back-to-school shopping and prepare for the hustle and bustle of a new academic year. Teachers, my friends and former coworkers, will start back next week. They will be preparing desks, setting up classrooms, writing names from their new class rosters on all of the colorful details of their classrooms and sitting through countless meetings. But let me tell you, it's not all academics.
The day started like any other day. I was pulling my groups, reading books, and having great discussions. It was time for my youngest students, the kindergarten class. Even though I knew it was coming, the announcement came: active shooter drill.
My classroom at the time was open space, which means I quickly move my group of tiny five-year- olds into a secure, closed room. We filed in silently, every little body following instructions, their eyes wide and scared but their trust fully in me. We sat in total silence, in the dark, waiting for the code to be announced that the building was clear.
The kids were perfect. They were scared, yes, but did exactly as they were supposed to do. Still the quiet-unnatural, heavy quiet of children holding their breath- was almost unbearable. It's funny how you go from reminding them to sit "criss- cross applesauce" to complete and utter silence. And even though I knew that drill was coming, it shook me.
When it was over, a flood of questions came rushing in just as I had anticipated.
"Why do we have to do this?"
"What happens if we can't get to a room?"
"Will you keep us safe?"
I was honest with them. I told them it is our job as teachers to protect them. They wanted reassurance, I gave it as best as I could. But one question hit harder than the rest:
"What about Marci?"
Marceline, my daughter was in first grade in another room at the time, just down the hall. During that drill, I didn't run to her. I trusted her teacher to protect her the way I protect my students. But the truth is, as a mom, I had a hard time not running to get her. That's the impossible balance teachers face in these moments- our training says to protect the children in front of us, but our hearts and minds ache for our own. It's a worry as parents we face every single day that we send our children off to school.
I truly believe everyone should experience an active shooter drill in a classroom full of children. Watch the way they cling to you, the way their little brows furrow with questions too big for them to even understand. I promise- your entire perspective on guns, regulations, and school safety will shift. Seeing their reactions during a drill is hard enough. I can't even begin to imagine the horror of a real situation.
So, as we head into another school year, remember this: teachers aren't just preparing lesson plans and bulletin boards. They are preparing for the unthinkable. They carry that constant, gnawing worry: Will this be the year? Will this be the day?
This year, show your child's teacher some grace. Show them compassion. Show them support. Because behind every math worksheet and every story time, they are carrying the weight of keeping your children safe in a world that too often forgets how vulnerable they are.