Stuck

I would have gone to Columbine High School if my family had stayed in Denver. Or perhaps my parents would have sent me to Chapman High School in an effort to avoid the school with such an infamous and terrifying past. I remember when it happened, my family was living in New Jersey but it hadn’t been long since we were a part of that community. Only a year and a half had passed since our move at the end of 1997. My preschool teacher’s son was the boy who crawled out the library window to safety. Because of this, school shootings had always been a not-so-distant reality in my world. Other acts of terrorism that my peers and I have grown up with, domestic and not, have continued to keep these mass acts of violence a close to home reality. A reality that I tried to ignore and forget about every time I climbed onto the school bus as a student. My Sketchers leading the way – one foot in front of the other. 

But now, as my role in school changes from student to teacher, and our country is plagued with more school shootings and acts of domestic terrorism, my efforts to ignore reality is getting more and more difficult. And I’m sure it’s incredibly hard for my students and their peers. 

I suppose this post is more about questions than answers to this problem that teachers face today. I don’t have any grand calls-to-action or some revolutionary solution to propose. Legislators know what they need to do. Lobbyists know what has to be done. They’ve always known. This post is more about me naming my feelings out loud as a new teacher. 

I’m scared of what I may have to face one day at school – at my job. It’s paralyzing. And I don’t quite know yet how to deal with that fear. I don’t quite know how to even talk about it. 

I’m angry that I had to and my students have to grow up in and exist in a world where school, work, the movie theaters, the mall, a concert, a store, a festival, a restaurant aren’t guaranteed to be safe spaces. 

I’m tired of looking over my shoulder in crowded places, sitting near an exit when I’m feeling anxious, or getting flashes of strategic thinking about where I would hide if a shooter were to enter the venue I’m in. I’m already exhausted by the thought of lock downs. I had a vivid nightmare about it recently- prompting me to put these thoughts into words.

I want to say I’m hopeful. But I can’t. I’m not right now. It would be a lie to say it. I want to be hopeful that this issue will be put to bed in my lifetime. I want to be hopeful that no more students or teachers will have to perish in order for this issue to be considered important enough to be settled. I want to be hopeful that my students won’t have to continue to advocate for their right to go to school and be met with safety behind the front doors. But I’m not. And I don’t know what to do about it. 

So more questions than anything pop up when I think on this. How do we as teachers be brave for our students every day when we show up to school not knowing what lies ahead in the day? How will we be brave if tragedy strikes? How do we be brave for ourselves? How do we continue to fight what seems like a losing battle for everyone’s right to go out into the world without fear of senseless violence? 

I don’t know.

But for now, not Sketchers anymore, but my pointed, professional flats leading the way. I teach. I advocate. I vote. I show up. One foot in front of the other, I suppose.

 Comment below – I’d love to hear other people’s thoughts and feelings on this topic. Thanks for reading and letting me share.