"I am a teacher. Today I cowered in a closet with my fifth grade students. I locked doors and..." [View all]

[demmiblue]

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I am a teacher. Today I cowered in a closet with my fifth grade students. I locked doors and switched off tech. They wiggled and squished and whimpered. I squished in after.

The LOCKDOWN. LOCKS. LIGHTS. OUT OF SIGHT. THIS IS NOT A DRILL announcement had been made not 15 seconds before. They struggled to pull the doors that can’t contain us a bit closer. The class snuggled nervously, hearts hammering. I didn’t have to shush the way I do during drills.

Fifteen seconds later came a correction. EXCUSE ME. THERE WAS A MISTAKE. THIS IS A LOCKOUT, NOT A LOCKDOWN. WE HAVE BEEN PLACED ON A LOCKOUT DUE TO A NEIGHBORHOOD INCIDENT. LOCKOUT.

Thank god. A simple miscommunication. But for thirty seconds, it had been real. Not a drill. Thirty seconds of blood pounding in my ears. Of students’ eyes on the ground. On the closet doors. On my face.

For thirty seconds I wondered if today would be the day. The day I have to use the training. To become a fighting target so others can escape. To decide whether to leave my own children motherless in order to save students.

When we breathed heavy, thick relief and moved out from the closets into Lockout, my ears kept pounding. Ten year old eyes darted to see if peers were equally frightened. Ten year old hands shook slightly.

I praised them for the flawlessness of their trained reactions. I awarded the coveted behavior points they collect to earn popcorn parties. The Lockout only lasted fifteen more minutes. The speaker blared ALL CLEAR. ALL CLEAR.

An hour later, alone, bent over my wheezing breast pump, I cried. I’d debriefed them with the oft repeated reassurance that because of our training and protocols, we were safe.

School is a safe place to be, I’d said. We work very hard to keep you safe, I said. The watery smiles and minuscule nods I was given were wrenching agony. They smelled the lie. They are ten. And they know closet doors won’t save them.

Demand action. Call. March. Write. For god’s sake, vote. Because it just...shouldn’t be like this. We shouldn’t have to live like any one of us could be a victim. So all of us must be the change. @Everytown @MomsDemand