I didn’t know if I was going to write anything about the horrible tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School. It wasn’t because I was hoping that if I didn’t speak about it, that it would just go away. I was because I was literally speechless.
FRIDAY DECEMBER 14, 2012
Last Friday started out as every other day. I rushed my own children out of the
house. I got myself ready to go to our
typical PLC Friday morning meeting. We
went through the motions, the bell for first period rang and I was greeted by
students. For 45 minutes, my 11th
and 12th grade Anatomy students had a lively review game about
joints and muscles. It was fun. A student asked me a question about a
slightly unrelated topic and I didn’t have the answer. I opened up my internet, Yahoo! popped up,
and there it was, all over the front page.
I forgot what the student had even asked me. I sat down in my desk chair and the look on
my face must have been that of total horror.
My students started asking “Miss?
Are you ok?” I couldn’t speak. Students came over to look at my screen. They couldn’t speak either. I began to have a panic attack, thinking of
my own children, a mile across town in their own school. I frantically began looking to figure out
WHERE, WHERE DID THIS HAPPEN?
The bell rang… students left. More students came in, some talking about the shooting. Freshman and sophomores with cell phones. Texts between them, and from their
parents. They were scared but acting
tough. They were spreading inaccurate
rumors. Fear that it happened in OUR
district. In every class period for the
rest of the day, I had to address it. I
was telling myself “stick to the facts, just say what you know happened for
sure.” But every time I got to the part
where I had to tell my students that it was kindergarteners (that’s what was
being reported at the time)that were killed, I started crying. Not just a couple of tears, but full on
sobbing. I kept thinking about my own Kaylee, 6 years old, and how alone and
scared she would have been. How she
would have been crying out for me, and how I wouldn’t have been there to help
her.
My “tough guy” urban high school students have thick
skins. At least it appears that way on
the outside. But over the past few days,
I can see the fear. They have asked,
“could this happen here, Miss?” As a
responsible educator, I have to comfort them.
We have gone over our safety plan. We’ve discussed lockdown procedures. But even these high school kids are
scared. Yesterday, we were facing rumors
that someone is going to shoot up our school on Friday. An “end of the world/apocalypse” type
shooting. No one can say who is going to
do this, it’s a general air of “I heard someone say that someone said” type of
thing.
The biggest problem is, every high school in our district is
“hearing” the same thing. Kids say they
won’t be coming to school on Friday. Our
attendance numbers will be very low. It
is an extreme case of mass hysteria, and to be honest, I don’t blame the kids
or their parents at all for keeping their children home tomorrow. I think it is actually irresponsible of the
district to hold classes tomorrow. We
don’t ever take “snow days”, so what is the harm in shutting it all down for
one day and adding the day onto the back end of the year? Please.
Let us spend time with our families a day early and hope this insanity
goes away over the break.
MY “REAL” KIDS
I often call my students “my kids” because they are. I am fully responsible for them the hour and
15 minutes that they are in my class. In
loco parenti. It is my job to try and
mold them to not only think scientifically, but to help them become better
people. I also have 3 children of my
own. 10, 8 and 6.
Part of my stress last Friday was “do my children know what
happened? Are the adults at their school
telling them about it? Are they
scared? Do they think this happened at
MY high school?” As soon as my school
day was over I rushed home to hug my kids.
I began weeping uncontrollably.
They were home, safe and excited to see me! Then, beautiful words from my 6 year old
“Mommy, why are you crying?”
She had been protected from the horror of the day. The innocence
of MY first grader had been preserved, while the innocence of 20 others had
been taken. My husband and I briefly explained the events of that day to our
children and assured them that they were going to be OK. We didn’t watch the news for DAYS (I’ve seen
more episodes of Cake Boss on Netflix than I care to admit...my 8 year old
LOVES that show!) and my husband and I do not really discuss the events in
front of our kids.
Last night, I took my family out to dinner. Kaylee, my 6 year old first grader was so
proud of herself. She ordered her own
meal, made her own salad at the salad bar, talked to a police officer who
happened to be dining near us, and bragged about how she can write her numbers
up to 120 and that she is reading at a 3rd grade level. After dinner, on the way out to the car, she
was holding my husband’s hand and skipping.
I was taken aback by how tiny her body looked standing next to him, how
full of life she was and how vulnerable she could be . Her giggles filled the
cold night air. A tear streamed down my cheek.
THIS is what a 6 year old should be doing 5 days before Christmas, not
being buried.
Newtown Connecticut, I am so sorry for your loss. Words cannot even express the sorrow that I
feel. My heart aches for you. I see my daughter’s face, in the eyes of each
of your children.
