Warning: not about tots
I'm sitting here, in the school I work at, in a real live lockdown.
When I was a child, we didn't have lockdown drills. It wasn't even something we thought about...you know, huddling in a corner in fear that someone with a gun might come into our school and shoot someone else. It was a childhood luxury, not fearing something like that.
But here I am, in my 6th year of teaching. Dozens of drills later. I am an outward expert on these types of things.
But inside? I am less of an expert. I am still a 13 year old girl, trying to hide my concern for the community of which I was, and will always be, a part.
When Columbine happened I was in middle school. I was in French class, waiting for lunch, when we heard an announcement over the loud speaker that simply stated someone at Columbine had been shot. In the foot. We would be kept in our rooms until further instruction. I spent the entire time convincing myself that out of 2000 students, the likelihood of the one person who was shot being my brother was slim, right? No way he was the one who was injured! And if he was, a foot wound? Not a big deal.
At first I was excited to be in French because my Francophile heart was already in full swing. Plus it wasn't anything boring like Math. But then the hours passed slowly by and I saw the movements around me. My substitute teacher looked anxious (I would find out later her son went to Columbine). Students started being picked up by their parents. We knew nothing, but we knew something was happening.
Around 2:30, there were only a few of us left. We weren't allowed to be dismissed to walk home when the time came because of safety. We were getting more bold with our questions, but answers were slim. When dismissal time finally came and only a handful of us were in the room, they succumbed and turned on the news. Fear filled my body. It was a stark contrast from the film Angels in the Outfield we had just been watching; shots of fleeing students filled the screen and I froze. This was bigger than I could've imagined.
My mom finally picked me up just before 4, the last one on the pick up list. We went home and tried to process. I'm still trying to process.
During the first lockdown I experienced as a teacher, I was working with a small group on math skills in this side office off a classroom. The few teachers and students crawled into a corner, locked the door, and waited. It wasn't an announced drill, so concern consumed me. Flashbacks of the unknown entered my soul. What would I do if this was real? My reaction was powerful and I had no idea how much my 13 year old fear still lingered within me.
It's not as strong, but I still get nervous every time I hear the word lockdown over the loudspeaker.
Lockdown lifted.
I'm sitting here, in the school I work at, in a real live lockdown.
When I was a child, we didn't have lockdown drills. It wasn't even something we thought about...you know, huddling in a corner in fear that someone with a gun might come into our school and shoot someone else. It was a childhood luxury, not fearing something like that.
But here I am, in my 6th year of teaching. Dozens of drills later. I am an outward expert on these types of things.
But inside? I am less of an expert. I am still a 13 year old girl, trying to hide my concern for the community of which I was, and will always be, a part.
When Columbine happened I was in middle school. I was in French class, waiting for lunch, when we heard an announcement over the loud speaker that simply stated someone at Columbine had been shot. In the foot. We would be kept in our rooms until further instruction. I spent the entire time convincing myself that out of 2000 students, the likelihood of the one person who was shot being my brother was slim, right? No way he was the one who was injured! And if he was, a foot wound? Not a big deal.
At first I was excited to be in French because my Francophile heart was already in full swing. Plus it wasn't anything boring like Math. But then the hours passed slowly by and I saw the movements around me. My substitute teacher looked anxious (I would find out later her son went to Columbine). Students started being picked up by their parents. We knew nothing, but we knew something was happening.
Around 2:30, there were only a few of us left. We weren't allowed to be dismissed to walk home when the time came because of safety. We were getting more bold with our questions, but answers were slim. When dismissal time finally came and only a handful of us were in the room, they succumbed and turned on the news. Fear filled my body. It was a stark contrast from the film Angels in the Outfield we had just been watching; shots of fleeing students filled the screen and I froze. This was bigger than I could've imagined.
My mom finally picked me up just before 4, the last one on the pick up list. We went home and tried to process. I'm still trying to process.
During the first lockdown I experienced as a teacher, I was working with a small group on math skills in this side office off a classroom. The few teachers and students crawled into a corner, locked the door, and waited. It wasn't an announced drill, so concern consumed me. Flashbacks of the unknown entered my soul. What would I do if this was real? My reaction was powerful and I had no idea how much my 13 year old fear still lingered within me.
It's not as strong, but I still get nervous every time I hear the word lockdown over the loudspeaker.
Lockdown lifted.
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