When I ask my kids, “How was school?” -- the usual response is a mumbled, “Fine” or “Whatever” or “Okay.” When I press for more information, like, “What happened at school” or “What’s new at school,” they usually say, “Nothin’.” That’s probably true on most days. And when they finally get out of school for the day, the last thing on earth they feel like talking about is… school!
But just the other day, both of my kids told me separately, during a quiet moment, that there was a lockdown drill during the school day. First, while doing her homework, my 12 year-old daughter said, “You know, we had a lockdown drill today.” I was caught off guard. I forgot the school was conducting them and suddenly felt scared and protective and was reminded of my girl’s vulnerability, all at the same time.
“Wow, what do you do during a lockdown drill, was it scary?” I asked. Realizing right away that I shouldn’t have thrown in the -- “was it scary” -- part. “Not really” she said, describing how weird and sort of funny it was for all of the seventh graders to be huddled in the corner of a classroom. Kids at that age start to become self-conscious and more aware of the opposite sex, so that’s probably where the weird part came in. Or so I hoped.
As I said goodnight to my son that same evening, he said, out of nowhere, “We had a lockdown drill today at school.” This is hours after he arrived at home, after finishing homework and all his other activities. (All I could think was, It was still on his mind.) “Yeah, I heard, Maggie told me earlier. Was it scary?” There was that question again, I just couldn’t help myself. “No.” He said, “Not during the drill. That part wasn’t scary. It was after, when we started to talk about why we were having the drill. That was scary.”
Then I got scared.
I wanted to tell him nothing bad would ever happen at school. In all likelihood, nothing would. But how can you say that to a child? Then he said, “Mom, if someone wanted to come into our school with a gun, they could. No amount of security could stop them.” I tried to remind him of all the safeguards at the front door to the building and how the school’s main priority was the safety of the students. He heard me, but it wasn’t enough.
I guess those innocent days are over, long gone. From now on, he will be aware of his vulnerability in the world and that I can only protect him as far as my arms can reach.
But just the other day, both of my kids told me separately, during a quiet moment, that there was a lockdown drill during the school day. First, while doing her homework, my 12 year-old daughter said, “You know, we had a lockdown drill today.” I was caught off guard. I forgot the school was conducting them and suddenly felt scared and protective and was reminded of my girl’s vulnerability, all at the same time.
“Wow, what do you do during a lockdown drill, was it scary?” I asked. Realizing right away that I shouldn’t have thrown in the -- “was it scary” -- part. “Not really” she said, describing how weird and sort of funny it was for all of the seventh graders to be huddled in the corner of a classroom. Kids at that age start to become self-conscious and more aware of the opposite sex, so that’s probably where the weird part came in. Or so I hoped.
As I said goodnight to my son that same evening, he said, out of nowhere, “We had a lockdown drill today at school.” This is hours after he arrived at home, after finishing homework and all his other activities. (All I could think was, It was still on his mind.) “Yeah, I heard, Maggie told me earlier. Was it scary?” There was that question again, I just couldn’t help myself. “No.” He said, “Not during the drill. That part wasn’t scary. It was after, when we started to talk about why we were having the drill. That was scary.”
Then I got scared.
I wanted to tell him nothing bad would ever happen at school. In all likelihood, nothing would. But how can you say that to a child? Then he said, “Mom, if someone wanted to come into our school with a gun, they could. No amount of security could stop them.” I tried to remind him of all the safeguards at the front door to the building and how the school’s main priority was the safety of the students. He heard me, but it wasn’t enough.
I guess those innocent days are over, long gone. From now on, he will be aware of his vulnerability in the world and that I can only protect him as far as my arms can reach.
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