Today was my first day of volunteering as a reading buddy at Charlotte Park Elementary school. I was nervous, envisioning introducing myself to the student, getting situated in the classroom, working through the lessons slowly with patience and enthusiasm. I swiped a piece of Valentine's candy from the kid's stash as I left the house to be hopefully a token to extend at the end of the lesson, hoping it might encourage them to look forward to my next visit. I considered the role of touch, smiling, laughter and all the things I could do to help him or her feel more confident in their reading. Yay young minds and learning!
I did not read to any student today. As luck would have it, my first day was the day after teacher in-service, which was filled with training and drills no doubt and for good reason as a result of the recent tragedy in Florida. Which that really isn't enough information anymore and I should actually be more specific - the shooting at Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, less it gets confused with another shooting in the state.
Ms. Nicks is an older, yet vibrant teacher somehow not worn down by the increasing demands of the classroom. Her 15 kindergarten students were diverse, well dressed in smart school uniforms embellished with personal flair like fun jewelry, stylish sneakers, and the ever-large head bows. One girl wore the shiniest silver Mary Jane shoes I've ever seen. Together they looked just like kindergarteners from any school anywhere.
After settling from lunch Ms. Nicks quickly got to the matter at hand: drills. And we rehearsed and then practiced what to do in the event of a fire. (At this point I'm wondering if she remembers why I am here.) We reviewed, how to line up, how to behave and how to exit the building. We, myself included showing that adults aren't exempt from being turned into "hot dogs" as Ms. Nick stated, all lined up repeatedly at the door, single-file. Three times!
Then she sat the kids back down on the rug and explained to the now off-schedule eager-eyed and easily distracted 5 and 6-year-olds what to do in the event of a lockdown. Now, she didn't actually say "how to prevent getting shot at school" or "shooter" or "gunman" or any of those things, but I felt the floor drop out from under me as I quickly looked over the small collection of heads and wondered, "Which one? How many?" And then tears started to well up and my chest started tightening and I realized I wasn't going to do anyone any good if I freaked out.
As she looked around finally finding some duck tape, she took a piece of bright yellow construction paper and covered the small window in the door. After turning out the lights, she drew down the shades while quietly dismissing the kids one table at a time to walk to the back of the room behind a partition of who-knows-what that hides the hooks and cubbies for backpacks and jackets. We quietly crouched together, and then snuggled in some more and sat silent, in the dark, listening to Ms. Nicks review what we were supposed to do and why.
Ms. Nicks did her best not to freak out the kids, but I could tell that between the fire drill and the lockdown drill, the kids completely sensed the shift. We didn't need to repeat the effort - it was scary enough the first time. As Ms. Nicks admitted, somewhat symbolically on her knees in the dark in a black dress and probably in desperate self-assurance, she'd never done this before and we've, "never ever had to do it here, [long pause] in Nashville" Even she had to qualify that statement.
Just barely illuminated by a sliver of light peeking in from the yellowed shades I studied the faces of the little people sitting beside me on the floor. I noticed there wasn't humor or amusement in any of the faces. Did they know what was going on? I wondered how much they knew about current events. I wondered what they were thinking. I wondered if their parents knew what their kids were doing. I wondered if my kids - 2, 8 and 10 - were practicing these drills today. I wondered if there are more school fires or school shootings in a year. Then I stopped wondering.
Ms. Nicks gave time for questions, but no one dared have one. She said that we were hiding in the event that anyone who was not supposed to be at the school had gotten in. She tucked in a few kids tighter, coaching them on how important it was to be absolutely quiet. Mentally I finished with, "lest we might be discovered in this tragic fake game of hide and seek."
The girl with the incredibly shiny silver shoes peered up at me, a big white bow about the size of her face perfectly fixed in her hair. I smiled and made a face. I do dumb stuff when I am nervous. We got up and filed quietly back to our seats. Two kids scrambled to turn on the lights while Ms. Nicks returned the shades.
Later I flashed through a memory of doing a tornado drill in the library of my middle school as a sixth grader. That was when I probably became fully aware of the seriousness of the drill. Maybe I had a deeper comprehension of death? Either way, in that beige on brown on beige giant box of a room with a massive card catalog I remember thinking, "How on earth is this plastic and aluminum desk going to protect me from the mountain of concrete and roofing above me?"
Afterwards, Ms. Nicks presented the next item of the day: a writing assignment where the kids were going to create their most imaginative monster and then write sentences describing it. While the kids worked on some extremely creative monsters full of color and extra eyeballs, I noticed that both the window shades weren't able to retract to their original position, with one hanging a bit slack and the other exposing some artwork had become untapped and was now drooping down.
Just like the shades, after being in position for so long it is hard to get pulled out, and then return to our previous form. People far smarter than I would say that's a given truth - it's impossible for something to really ever return to its original shape. Maybe there's the hope: we as a population of humanity have been pulled out from our resting place - and it's awkward hanging out here. But I am sure Ms. Nicks will fix the shades when she has time, just as I am sure we're going to figure this out.
We have to.
Brian and I have talked about our guns, inherited through this grandfather and great-grandfather and what we can do to make sure we're doing our part. We keep them locked, unloaded with no ammunition, in the attic in a safe. I don't even know where the key is. We are searching for a place to take the 40-year-old box of shells that have been wandering around this earth with us as we've moved. We've talked - a bit - with our kids, especially our oldest, about what to do if he is ever at a friends house and he sees a gun, but we now understand we need to talk with them more, about more scenarios and more situations. We have no desire to terrify our children and have fear shape their lives, but we do desire to have caution, preparedness and awareness govern their decision making when we aren't there to do it with them. This is just the beginning, and there is much, much for us all to learn and understand, explain and navigate.
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