This is the story of a teacher who describes being in a lock down with her kids in the Apalachee shooting, not even the most recent shooting as I post this.
This article is the story about a teacher named Jennifer Carter who lived through the Apalachee shooting. She talks about the lock down and how she had to keep her kids quiet and safe in what was the “longest 20 minutes of her career.”
Jennifer describes lying to her kids for the beginning to keep them safe. She told them to be quiet so the ‘drill’ would end soon. She got her kids through it.
I can’t stop reading this and just sobbing because this is the life I’ve always lived. I’ve lived the life of being ready for an active shooter for “my kids” as she calls them too. I sobbed because my sister in teaching had to be more than ready, but had to actually act. I sobbed because she had to use her training and those kids lives are changed forever, even the survivors.
I read this and I sobbed because I know I still need to be ready. And I sobbed because I am ready. I’ve lived this life where I must be and that’s so incredibly sad. I’ve been ready since my first placement when I worked at Amsterdam High School.
We had a key under the desk just in case there was ever a sub who needed to lock the classroom. Of course, in hindsight, I’ve always thought about how that was silly. It was too difficult to get to that key. That door should have always been locked.
Of course midway through the year, that was an adjustment. Sandy Hook happened. Sandy Hook now a mere 30 miles from where I work, teachers I know having spouses who were there. So close it feels more and more real. So close I can no longer say not me, not here. No. We must all be ready.
I remember after that shooting, they said exactly that about the key. The key isn’t accessible enough. The door needs to be locked already or it would be too late. At some point, I remember me and my fellow interns vividly and openly discussing our plan for an active shooter.
I’ve spent my entire career with that same consideration in my brain. Reading this article makes me SOB for that teacher for having to fulfill that role and keep her kids safe. Call me a snowflake but I didn’t sign up for this. I’m not a cop. I’m not a fire fighter. I signed up to teach math and to “save kids” from not being able to read well or do math. I wanted to “save them” from feeling unloved, or being crummy people.
I did not sign up for this kind of saving, but I love my kids, so if it came I know I would.
Isn’t that sick though that I’ve had to consider it? Isn’t it sick how many times I have considered it? Have dreamed about it? Have made sure I had a plan.
I’m sure that every teacher like me has had that plan for their entire career. Every single room, we have a plan. Where would we put these students, where would we go? Would we follow the exact plan in a real emergency? Or would we take our kids out the back door?
In a real emergency, we are trained. I truly never thought going into a career with children would include this type of training, but I’ve been trained since my very first year.
I remember two years ago what it was like to be a substitute again I remember thinking in every room: What’s the plan here? I remember having lockdown drills with students I barely knew, and putting myself through that drill, thinking, “If this was real where would I put these kids?”
Some of the work I do feels oddly like police work and while I know I am trained, I still don’t think I signed up for this.
I think what makes me cry so much about this is I know how true it is. Even in those classes where I subbed, those were my kids. Those were MY kids. That I signed up for.
I signed up for them to be my kids.
And so they are.
No matter what class I had, I would follow the plan. You stay with your class. You keep them safe. And for lack of a better expression, you go down with the ship. Those teachers who died, they died for their kids. I know we would all do it in a second.
But my God, I’m not sure any of us signed on for this.
Michie Smashing Thoughts 