Forgotten Lunch
So sometimes how you plan to work through your day doesn't always happen. Right?
Yesterday, my plan was to quietly remember the beautiful souls lost in the Parkland shooting a year ago, and be cognizant of the pain still there for the families and friends. I had read the words of Jennifer Guttenberg in Newsweek yesterday, crying as she wrote about that day last year when she found out her daughter was not coming home. I would say a few words to each of my classes, foster a small, meaningful discussion, and then move on to our lesson. We're behind and trying to catch up before finals week next week. My classroom is always a safe place for discussion of any topic, even the ones that bring us the most discomfort. But that wasn't to be.
Wednesday night around 10:30pm, my co-teacher texts me and asks if I'm awake. Now, my first thought was "what did one of our students do THIS time?" or something similar. How wrong I was. What followed was an intense and emotional 4 hours of frantic texting back and forth with teacher-friends, and calming students who reached out. You see, someone had threatened to shoot up my high school, killing multiple students and at least 3 teachers in Parkland style.
Before I go on, I have to give a huge shout-out to THS students who saw the threat on social media, and began contacting teachers and administrators. It is because of their quick and responsible thinking that the threat was known immediately. We are #onesouth.
On the surface, you may just think that this was a copycat that wanted to scare everyone, or perhaps they wanted to add a 5th day to our 4 day weekend. Well, I couldn't at that point. While the threat itself was very direct, the misspellings seemed almost forced, and ridiculous. It seemed very hoax-like. Then student names began to be passed around with certainty from others. "I know it's him, he's like this! He's gotten in trouble for this kind of thing before!" I cringed. On one hand, maybe they were right and it would all be taken care of by morning. But, what if they were wrong, and this poor student had his name blasted on social media by mistake? It didn't matter- I'm a teacher and I have to be at school.
Getting ready for school that morning was a blur. My daughter was moving along at a good pace, but my mind was elsewhere. What if I didn't come home that night? What if this was the last time I saw her? My husband had left for work hours earlier while I was sleeping- my last words with him would be about the threat. I hugged her long and tight before she bounced out of my car to her grandmothers house to await the school bus. I knew all schools would have increased police presence today, I just hoped it wouldn't cause her any fear.
The day seemed to move fast, then slow. My first student encounter was a fellow gun violence prevention activist, who had come to school to turn in a paper, and was leaving. I hugged her with the words "go home" and she left nearly in tears. The halls were sparse- many parents kept their precious ones home and I didn't blame them. My cherished first hour plan period seemed to fly by as I walked to the copier twice to print and make copies for the day. State troopers were wandering around the front door like moths, trying to find a place to light. A rambunctious K-9 came bounding in with a red ball in his mouth. A bomb-sniffing dog I later learned. He wasn't there for very long I found out later. Administrators and deans looked tired and stressed, with forced smiles on their faces. In one instance, a dean told me he hadn't slept since returning from the police department at 2am, and he just stayed up getting things done. It was a long day for him, poor soul. Then my students started to appear, looking calm. Seniors...they had no fear. They were above this. There were 5 that hour, so they had an extra work day for their project. Not one of them wanted to talk about the threat with me or my co-teacher, so we sat at the front of the room and talked about spring break while they worked. Surreal. Next hour was mostly the same. Our foreign exchange student casually mentioned that things like this don't happen in Europe. I'm going to miss that kid next trimester. It was almost 11am when I realized I didn't want to eat lunch in the teacher lounge located just off the cafeteria. Call it fear, or whatever, an open space wasn't what I wanted. So, I talked teacher friends into ordering pizza and eating in one of our rooms. It wasn't hard. I don't think any of us wanted to admit that we did have some fear. Noon, the specified time for the attack, came and went, unnoticed verbally and noticed silently. These hours with my lovely (and crazy...I was very thankful for the crazy) co-teacher and my seniors went by fast.
My afternoon hours are devoted to freshmen- whom I love fiercely. They are flawed, immature, and maddening, but so very insightful and wise at times. I had 14 total for the next two slow hours. They had a project as well to work on, and all did, seeming to want to take advantage of the extra day. I had put off their final quiz so they were happy. One of my freshmen girls had been a direct target of the shooting threat, and she was my only student that I really went into detail with that day. She showed me the messages she had received directly, then to the dean. I deflated at 3:15 and sat at my desk, wondering when I had started working on the grant form that was on my screen. (I still don't know when I thought it was a good idea to pull this up). I thought I'd leave immediately like most teachers did, but I lingered, straightening books that had been out of place for weeks, picking up bits of paper. I wasn't feeling anything really, just the letdown from being on high alert all day. I knew I would need to process the day later on.
I left to buy Valentine's stuff, listen to a political podcast, and meet my daughter at dance class. I cherish my dance moms group- we talk about everything and there is no judgment to be had. We know we're all going through life in our own way and we accept it and find places to merge. Up until my arrival at dance, no one had asked me how I was doing. Not because they didn't care, but because nothing happened, so sure I'm alright. My partner in crime in gun violence prevention arrived soon after and asked me. It was then I started the feel the lump rise in my throat and time slow down. I said it was hard, but okay. As a group we started talking about everything- the threat, keeping kids home that day, the bills in our State government that want to arm teachers, and finally, half serious, half joking, creating a school that we would run and teach at (the majority of us are teachers of some sort) where kids wouldn't have to be surrounded by guns in order to learn. I was good. This was good. We were fine.
It wasn't until later, when my daughter mentioned to me that she didn't have lunch that I realized how much this affected me mentally. I couldn't understand why she didn't have lunch. I check her lunch every morning, of course she had lunch. Except she didn't, not this morning. In my preoccupation of wondering if this would be our last morning, I didn't look in her lunch box, and her, in her complete faith in me, didn't check it either. I was to have packed her once a week lunchable because this was our last day of the week. Her special treat. She DID eat, of course, but that's not quite the point. In the car, driving back to the studio for my own dance class I broke down in tears, apologizing. I told her everything about the threat that I had kept so carefully hidden from her. My brave, strong, caring soul of a 9 year old comforted me, telling me it was fine, that she did eat, and they had their Valentine's party.
Then she said the words that I had never hoped to hear "but mommy, WE had a threat at our school too!" They didn't, of course, but they could not account for the increased number of police officers for any other reason. My heart sunk. She and her beautiful classmates, including my nephew, had went through the day thinking there had been a threat against their school. Forgetting her lunch seemed to be a mute point amidst this heavy realization.
Last night I went to bed, trying to move on past the day and look forward to my 4 day weekend. It occurred to me before falling asleep that I needed to write about this, simply because I could think of no other way to process the myriad of emotions I went through this day. A day of wariness, laughter, tears, small successes, and failure. For we have failed, my friends. We've created a society where a 9 year old assumes a threat has been made to her school because more police officers are there, and yet she went through her day as normal, with the exception of her forgotten lunch. What have we become?!
Yesterday, my plan was to quietly remember the beautiful souls lost in the Parkland shooting a year ago, and be cognizant of the pain still there for the families and friends. I had read the words of Jennifer Guttenberg in Newsweek yesterday, crying as she wrote about that day last year when she found out her daughter was not coming home. I would say a few words to each of my classes, foster a small, meaningful discussion, and then move on to our lesson. We're behind and trying to catch up before finals week next week. My classroom is always a safe place for discussion of any topic, even the ones that bring us the most discomfort. But that wasn't to be.
Wednesday night around 10:30pm, my co-teacher texts me and asks if I'm awake. Now, my first thought was "what did one of our students do THIS time?" or something similar. How wrong I was. What followed was an intense and emotional 4 hours of frantic texting back and forth with teacher-friends, and calming students who reached out. You see, someone had threatened to shoot up my high school, killing multiple students and at least 3 teachers in Parkland style.
Before I go on, I have to give a huge shout-out to THS students who saw the threat on social media, and began contacting teachers and administrators. It is because of their quick and responsible thinking that the threat was known immediately. We are #onesouth.
On the surface, you may just think that this was a copycat that wanted to scare everyone, or perhaps they wanted to add a 5th day to our 4 day weekend. Well, I couldn't at that point. While the threat itself was very direct, the misspellings seemed almost forced, and ridiculous. It seemed very hoax-like. Then student names began to be passed around with certainty from others. "I know it's him, he's like this! He's gotten in trouble for this kind of thing before!" I cringed. On one hand, maybe they were right and it would all be taken care of by morning. But, what if they were wrong, and this poor student had his name blasted on social media by mistake? It didn't matter- I'm a teacher and I have to be at school.
Getting ready for school that morning was a blur. My daughter was moving along at a good pace, but my mind was elsewhere. What if I didn't come home that night? What if this was the last time I saw her? My husband had left for work hours earlier while I was sleeping- my last words with him would be about the threat. I hugged her long and tight before she bounced out of my car to her grandmothers house to await the school bus. I knew all schools would have increased police presence today, I just hoped it wouldn't cause her any fear.
The day seemed to move fast, then slow. My first student encounter was a fellow gun violence prevention activist, who had come to school to turn in a paper, and was leaving. I hugged her with the words "go home" and she left nearly in tears. The halls were sparse- many parents kept their precious ones home and I didn't blame them. My cherished first hour plan period seemed to fly by as I walked to the copier twice to print and make copies for the day. State troopers were wandering around the front door like moths, trying to find a place to light. A rambunctious K-9 came bounding in with a red ball in his mouth. A bomb-sniffing dog I later learned. He wasn't there for very long I found out later. Administrators and deans looked tired and stressed, with forced smiles on their faces. In one instance, a dean told me he hadn't slept since returning from the police department at 2am, and he just stayed up getting things done. It was a long day for him, poor soul. Then my students started to appear, looking calm. Seniors...they had no fear. They were above this. There were 5 that hour, so they had an extra work day for their project. Not one of them wanted to talk about the threat with me or my co-teacher, so we sat at the front of the room and talked about spring break while they worked. Surreal. Next hour was mostly the same. Our foreign exchange student casually mentioned that things like this don't happen in Europe. I'm going to miss that kid next trimester. It was almost 11am when I realized I didn't want to eat lunch in the teacher lounge located just off the cafeteria. Call it fear, or whatever, an open space wasn't what I wanted. So, I talked teacher friends into ordering pizza and eating in one of our rooms. It wasn't hard. I don't think any of us wanted to admit that we did have some fear. Noon, the specified time for the attack, came and went, unnoticed verbally and noticed silently. These hours with my lovely (and crazy...I was very thankful for the crazy) co-teacher and my seniors went by fast.
My afternoon hours are devoted to freshmen- whom I love fiercely. They are flawed, immature, and maddening, but so very insightful and wise at times. I had 14 total for the next two slow hours. They had a project as well to work on, and all did, seeming to want to take advantage of the extra day. I had put off their final quiz so they were happy. One of my freshmen girls had been a direct target of the shooting threat, and she was my only student that I really went into detail with that day. She showed me the messages she had received directly, then to the dean. I deflated at 3:15 and sat at my desk, wondering when I had started working on the grant form that was on my screen. (I still don't know when I thought it was a good idea to pull this up). I thought I'd leave immediately like most teachers did, but I lingered, straightening books that had been out of place for weeks, picking up bits of paper. I wasn't feeling anything really, just the letdown from being on high alert all day. I knew I would need to process the day later on.
I left to buy Valentine's stuff, listen to a political podcast, and meet my daughter at dance class. I cherish my dance moms group- we talk about everything and there is no judgment to be had. We know we're all going through life in our own way and we accept it and find places to merge. Up until my arrival at dance, no one had asked me how I was doing. Not because they didn't care, but because nothing happened, so sure I'm alright. My partner in crime in gun violence prevention arrived soon after and asked me. It was then I started the feel the lump rise in my throat and time slow down. I said it was hard, but okay. As a group we started talking about everything- the threat, keeping kids home that day, the bills in our State government that want to arm teachers, and finally, half serious, half joking, creating a school that we would run and teach at (the majority of us are teachers of some sort) where kids wouldn't have to be surrounded by guns in order to learn. I was good. This was good. We were fine.
It wasn't until later, when my daughter mentioned to me that she didn't have lunch that I realized how much this affected me mentally. I couldn't understand why she didn't have lunch. I check her lunch every morning, of course she had lunch. Except she didn't, not this morning. In my preoccupation of wondering if this would be our last morning, I didn't look in her lunch box, and her, in her complete faith in me, didn't check it either. I was to have packed her once a week lunchable because this was our last day of the week. Her special treat. She DID eat, of course, but that's not quite the point. In the car, driving back to the studio for my own dance class I broke down in tears, apologizing. I told her everything about the threat that I had kept so carefully hidden from her. My brave, strong, caring soul of a 9 year old comforted me, telling me it was fine, that she did eat, and they had their Valentine's party.
Then she said the words that I had never hoped to hear "but mommy, WE had a threat at our school too!" They didn't, of course, but they could not account for the increased number of police officers for any other reason. My heart sunk. She and her beautiful classmates, including my nephew, had went through the day thinking there had been a threat against their school. Forgetting her lunch seemed to be a mute point amidst this heavy realization.
Last night I went to bed, trying to move on past the day and look forward to my 4 day weekend. It occurred to me before falling asleep that I needed to write about this, simply because I could think of no other way to process the myriad of emotions I went through this day. A day of wariness, laughter, tears, small successes, and failure. For we have failed, my friends. We've created a society where a 9 year old assumes a threat has been made to her school because more police officers are there, and yet she went through her day as normal, with the exception of her forgotten lunch. What have we become?!
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