To the Editor:
It was my first active shooter drill. I will never forget the eyes of the 25 second graders as they darted back and forth between their regular classroom teacher to me.
I visited the class once a week for enrichment. This was the first drill that had not been announced. Simply the signal.
Ever since the mass murders in Sandy Hook Elementary, in Newtown, Connecticut, in 2012, schools across the country instituted activeshooter drills. Practices have been held in every classroom.
We would close the windows, pull down the shades, and lock the classroom door. Then, the class would gather in a pre-identified corner, where no one in the hallway could look in the door windows and see them.
Classes with larger windows to the hallway soon found decorative posters and new bulletin boards installed to make visibility from the hallway impossible. Door windows were blocked with some sort of construction paper.
The drills also involved an extended period of quiet in the corner, sitting on the floor. Getting kindergarteners to sit quietly in a normal situation was hard enough, and even fifth graders would get restless, but it was reassuring to know it was just a drill, and it would soon end.
This drill was not announced. No one knew if it was a drill or the real thing.
The teacher, Miss Freeman, was an excellent first-year teacher, but this was a jolt. I wasn’t prepared, either, but I knew she and I had to be calm for the children’s sakes.
She locked the door and we gathered on the floor in a tight group in the corner where no one could see us. Miss Freeman looked at me with wide eyes, and I spoke up.
Was this the real thing? I was 30 years older, with 30 years more experience, and I started telling a story in my most soothing but quiet voice. A voice that would not be heard outside the classroom door, 20 feet away.
“Once upon time, there was a wonderful class of children. Their teacher, Miss Freewoman (small chuckle from the children) was a wonderful teacher, but she had a problem. Sometimes, the children wouldn’t be quiet. What could she do?”
The children recognized that the story was about them, and they settled in to listen.
I made up a story about a second-grade class and how good and quiet they normally were, except for…! I mentioned all the students, and each one’s identifiable quirk. The students looked at each other and smiled. My distraction was helping.
Then, the doorknob rattled. We all stilled. No one spoke. Miss Freeman smiled at the students to let them know that this was all part of the drill, but was it? We exchanged glances, neither of us knowing, but neither had we heard any shots. Perhaps it was just a drill after all?
We knew to be quiet. We knew not to say anything to anyone whose voice we didn’t recognize. It had to be someone outside the door, with the master key to unlock us.
Thankfully, at that point, the voice of the principal came through the door, as she unlocked it. Everyone could breathe a sigh of relief and go back to their projects.
Distraction had worked, but Miss Freeman and I exchanged looks. We had not signed up for a dangerous job, had we? But times had changed, and this marked a great divide for both of us. There is no distraction from that.
– Bonny Collins, Ocean View
