Early in the morning on July 20, 2012, at a midnight showing Dark Knight Rises, a man entered the movie theater with the sole purpose of killing people and succeeded. I had my own experience with this type of crime and have hesitated ever since to publish it, fearing it would cause more emotional distress for those involved. I'm not sure I should publish it, even now, 18 months later. Perhaps this shooting in the theater has brought it up to the surface yet again. I don't know, but for some reason, maybe it's cathartic and therapeutic for me, but I feel a need to write about it and get it out there in cyberspace.
So here goes:
The morning of February 2, 2011, the principal of our sister school was shot and killed while he sat at his desk.
It started like every other morning. I woke up early, went about my morning routine mindlessly, slowly awakening to the day. The hour commute was uneventful, but the remnants of the sunrise left beautiful colors in the partly cloudy sky and I always enjoy that part of the drive. It makes me cheer up and begin to look forward to the day ahead....perhaps we'd do an art project or complete a particularly challenging math lesson or read one of my favorites from the students' reader. No matter what, in spite of planning and preparing, I never really know what will unfold in any single day.
As usual, when I got to school, I hit the ground running. The switch in my brain flicked on, and I would be a Teacher for the next 8 hours. I said, "Good Morning," to passersby, whether they were parents I knew or didn't know, fellow teachers, or students. I usually receive a hug or two from kids I may or may not know, but who obviously know me. I ran copies, visited with whomever was doing the same, checked my mailbox, retreived my lunch cards and anything else I'd need for the next couple of hours, as I'd be unable to leave the room until recess.
Everything was business as usual.
8:45 sure came fast, so I quickly walked out to the playground for Morning Stretch. My whole school meets there in designated line-up spots for music and stretching, flag salute, birthday and other announcements. The usual suspects were misbehaving, talking mostly, so I shushed them and reminded them to be respectful during the flag salute. I was wearing my wine-colored square-necked, 3/4 sleeved sweater, "nice" jeans and my new black flats that feel like slippers. I really like them, my feet don't hurt...
We entered the classroom (I love that the kids just know what to do now). We all went about getting our stuff put away. I signed in on the computer for lunch count. The kids took their seats on the floor and I tell specific kids to "make a smart choice" about where to sit. I got a count, nobody was absent, and we go about Calendar and getting to Flex Groups-phonics class.
Flex goes smoothly, as usual, because it's a very scripted program. We sure can pack a lot into 40 minutes! It includes phonemic awareness, sound spellings, decoding a list of words together, sight word introduction and review, spelling, and reading practice. It feels like it goes by in about 15 minutes and I often hear, when I tell the kids to get their stamp cards out, "Already?!" (I love that).
When I had my own class back together, we ate a snack and proceeded to math. This lesson was a challenging one on comparing two digit numbers and using the greater than, less than, and equal signs. The strategy is to look at the tens first and compare. If they are the same, you compare the ones. In order to know which arrow to use, the kids are told to imagine a big alligator's mouth, which can eat a lot. They pretend they are alligators, knashing their teeth, and imagining eating a huge amount of food. The "alligator's mouth" eats the greater (I almost always have to say "bigger" instead because it seems the word "greater" is too much for the 7 year old brain to handle) number. So they draw a mouth with sharp teeth that is eating the greater number.
The day was pretty routine and going smoothly. It was almost recess, time for a breather, and a time to get ready for the lesson after recess.
It went well and it was time to clean up. At 10:40, in someone else's universe, life had changed drastically, but as far as I knew, life was chugging along....we counted table points and the new "Golden Table" was announced (kids at this table get to go first to everything) and much cheering ensued. I dismissed the golden table, and one boy had one foot out the door, but I called him back because he didn't put his book away. It was 10:45 on the dot when we heard the school secretary on the intercom, "THIS A LOCKDOWN. THIS IS A LOCKDOWN" (kids literally stopped in their tracks). I don't know what else she said, but by the tone of her voice I knew this wasn't a drill. I turned to the class and said, "GO," as I pointed to the bank of bookshelves where they had practiced this drill 3 months prior.
They went, and I went into robot mode: Lock the door, pull the shade, put the colored card in the window (to tell officials who is/is not accounted for, one was at the nurse so I stumbled to find the yellow card), grab the radio and turn it on, pull the enormous window drapes (on those damn cheap runners that don't slide easily so I have to tug and pull ridiculously, struggling to get them closed), glancing in the kids' direction every other second, shushing those who were giggling and not aware of the seriousness of the situation yet, all the while my heart was pumping wildly, my brain forcing me to outwardly appear calm.
When I was satisfied we were locked down sufficiently, I came to. I saw those awesome kids hunched over, in exactly the place they were suppose to be, being quiet as mice. I didn't say anything yet...was still a little stunned at what I had just done in the span of about 60 seconds. Then we heard the doorknob being roughly jostled. I suppressed my watery eyes told myself and the kids that it was the janitor checking on us (I hoped it was the janitor "checking on us" and not some "bad guy"). I honestly thought, and fervently hoped, we'd be told this was a false alarm.
After maybe 5 minutes of total silence and no word from anyone, I crawled to my email. There was one from the secretary that there was an "incident" at the other elementary school and that all the kids were safe. I thought, "That's good news," and felt somewhat relieved. Whatever this was, we'll be outta here soon. Five more minutes went by so I let the kids sit up and stretch their legs. A couple of boys wanted to talk and laugh, but they got a very stern look and finger pointed at them (do NOT. EVEN. START.), and they got it.
I got out a Magic Treehouse book (a very cute series by Mary Pope Osborn) entitled Pirates Past Noon. I began to read about Jack and Annie, two kids who are brother and sister and about 7 years old who travel through space and time in the magic treehouse. For 8 chapters we were in the Caribbean dealing with pirates and maps and treasure. That book was a tremendous help in keeping us all calm.
The radio was pretty quiet. I checked email, but there was no real news. One teacher wanted to know when we'd be released. She was told that this is not a drill. Our brains just don't go there....at least not mine. To my mind there was NO WAY anything awful had happened, even though we could hear sirens and helicopters. I knew my colleague just across the way was in her room with one adult and one child. I was wondering if she was getting a ton of work done. I knew other colleagues had been on recess duty, as many students had already gone to recess. They were in one room with over 100 students.
Recess time had come and gone, time ticked by, lunch time came and went. Chapter after chapter I was getting more and more nervous. I didn't dare say the word "bathroom." The power of suggestion is strong. But the call of nature is stronger, and kids were starting to squeeze their legs together and also complain that they were getting hungry. I told them that they could try really, really hard to hold it, or they'd have to go in the trash can. After they calmed down from hearing that news, I started mentally planning what we could do about lunch. Just as I was figuring out that we could have the kids who brought lunch from home share what they have, we were released and told lunch would be ready in a half hour.
The classroom doors opened simultaneously, the bathroom doors were locked so I unlocked them, to the great relief of many. All 480 students were on the playground and we were told to help supervise. When I finally saw my friend and colleague, she was red in the face and watery eyed. Before this registered, I jokingly asked if she got a lot of planning done? She told me "he didn't make it." WHAT? Who? WHAT THE HELL IS SHE TALKING ABOUT? I was completely confused. She had texted her grown boys to get on the internet and find out what was going on. The power of denial is so strong that when she first said that, my first thought was that she had heard a rumor that would later be proved false.
Our district is small with only 2 elementary schools and one middle school. The principal at the other elementary school (just a mile away) had been shot in his office and died. While I was reading about pirates, my principal, who had traveled to the scene, was watching her friend die while he was being taken away in an ambulance. While I was worrying about feeding the kids and makeshift trashcan toilets, she was surrounded by armed police and told she couldn't leave the scene. I thought of his wife and children, the staff at the school, the students...the whole community, how I was standing on the playground at this second, intact, safe, and grateful that I will go home alive today. But also aware of keen understanding of the notion that death can come anytime, anyday, no matter what profession you're in or how you live your life.
We decided, as we stood on the playground, to tell the kids that there was a bad guy in town and the police were searching for him, and that they found him and he's in jail, so that's why we didn't have to hide anymore. After lunch, I told them this and also, to not listen to "stories." They thought it was a robber and I didn't tell them anything different, mostly so I wouldn't have a room full of terrified children. One child asked, "Why would someone do this?" They didn't have answers and neither did I, but one boy did. He told us that "maybe his brain is rotten. Or upside down." To me, that is the perfect answer, the one that made me almost lose it for the first time, (but didn't because I hadn't told them about the shooting, and if I cry they'll know it wasn't a robber). We ended the talk with the thought that by the time they get home, it will be on the news and their parents could tell them the details.
That weekend, I came across that burgandy sweater in the dirty laundry basket. I don't think I can wear it again. I didn't get rid of it (my first reaction), but it's folded and put away. It became a symbol for the memory of that day. The day my training really kicked in and found out that maybe I am made of the right stuff for this job, the day a tragic death occurred. All the teachers and staff did what they were trained to do and not one child was harmed.
February 2, 2011, will now stand out in my mind as the distinction, or marker, between the way life was before the shooting and how it is now. I did teach a challenging math lesson, but now that particular concept will always be tagged in my mind as the "lesson I was teaching when the principal was shot." I won't be able to read a Groundhog Day story or hear about Puxatawny Phil without also thinking of this lockdown and the reasons we had to hide. Every time I hear on the news of another shooting, in a theater, or a restaurant, it all comes back to me.
The shooter, a year later, has been convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison. We all followed the trial on livewire and waited for only an hour and half for the verdict. It was the right one and there was one moment of relief, but that quickly faded as we realized that nobody wins here. This will not bring our dead principal, husband, and father of three girls, back. There is no real justice.
I will never understand how anybody can think a gun will solve everyday life problems. There is no answer to the question of "Why?" Although I think my young student was able to voice it more eloquently than anyone...his brain is just rotten, like a jack-o-lantern left on the porch for one too many nights...or upside down.
My heart goes out to the people in the movie theater, trapped under gunfire, terrified, some now mourning the loss of a child, a sibling, or a friend. The words we use to describe these sudden and violent events never ring true. Yet what else can we say to express our utter disbelief?
My experience, which took place in a small classroom on a different campus a half mile away, was traumatic for us. I can only hope and believe that it will be my one and only brush with tragedy, knowing it probably isn't. A shooting of this nature used to be a once-in-a-lifetime event, but is now something for which we prepare and train.
To the dispatchers, police, fire, EMTs, and other personnel involved in responding to these calls, thank you from the bottom of my heart and soul. I appreciate all you do to protect us.
So here goes:
The morning of February 2, 2011, the principal of our sister school was shot and killed while he sat at his desk.
It started like every other morning. I woke up early, went about my morning routine mindlessly, slowly awakening to the day. The hour commute was uneventful, but the remnants of the sunrise left beautiful colors in the partly cloudy sky and I always enjoy that part of the drive. It makes me cheer up and begin to look forward to the day ahead....perhaps we'd do an art project or complete a particularly challenging math lesson or read one of my favorites from the students' reader. No matter what, in spite of planning and preparing, I never really know what will unfold in any single day.
As usual, when I got to school, I hit the ground running. The switch in my brain flicked on, and I would be a Teacher for the next 8 hours. I said, "Good Morning," to passersby, whether they were parents I knew or didn't know, fellow teachers, or students. I usually receive a hug or two from kids I may or may not know, but who obviously know me. I ran copies, visited with whomever was doing the same, checked my mailbox, retreived my lunch cards and anything else I'd need for the next couple of hours, as I'd be unable to leave the room until recess.
Everything was business as usual.
8:45 sure came fast, so I quickly walked out to the playground for Morning Stretch. My whole school meets there in designated line-up spots for music and stretching, flag salute, birthday and other announcements. The usual suspects were misbehaving, talking mostly, so I shushed them and reminded them to be respectful during the flag salute. I was wearing my wine-colored square-necked, 3/4 sleeved sweater, "nice" jeans and my new black flats that feel like slippers. I really like them, my feet don't hurt...
We entered the classroom (I love that the kids just know what to do now). We all went about getting our stuff put away. I signed in on the computer for lunch count. The kids took their seats on the floor and I tell specific kids to "make a smart choice" about where to sit. I got a count, nobody was absent, and we go about Calendar and getting to Flex Groups-phonics class.
Flex goes smoothly, as usual, because it's a very scripted program. We sure can pack a lot into 40 minutes! It includes phonemic awareness, sound spellings, decoding a list of words together, sight word introduction and review, spelling, and reading practice. It feels like it goes by in about 15 minutes and I often hear, when I tell the kids to get their stamp cards out, "Already?!" (I love that).
When I had my own class back together, we ate a snack and proceeded to math. This lesson was a challenging one on comparing two digit numbers and using the greater than, less than, and equal signs. The strategy is to look at the tens first and compare. If they are the same, you compare the ones. In order to know which arrow to use, the kids are told to imagine a big alligator's mouth, which can eat a lot. They pretend they are alligators, knashing their teeth, and imagining eating a huge amount of food. The "alligator's mouth" eats the greater (I almost always have to say "bigger" instead because it seems the word "greater" is too much for the 7 year old brain to handle) number. So they draw a mouth with sharp teeth that is eating the greater number.
The day was pretty routine and going smoothly. It was almost recess, time for a breather, and a time to get ready for the lesson after recess.
It went well and it was time to clean up. At 10:40, in someone else's universe, life had changed drastically, but as far as I knew, life was chugging along....we counted table points and the new "Golden Table" was announced (kids at this table get to go first to everything) and much cheering ensued. I dismissed the golden table, and one boy had one foot out the door, but I called him back because he didn't put his book away. It was 10:45 on the dot when we heard the school secretary on the intercom, "THIS A LOCKDOWN. THIS IS A LOCKDOWN" (kids literally stopped in their tracks). I don't know what else she said, but by the tone of her voice I knew this wasn't a drill. I turned to the class and said, "GO," as I pointed to the bank of bookshelves where they had practiced this drill 3 months prior.
They went, and I went into robot mode: Lock the door, pull the shade, put the colored card in the window (to tell officials who is/is not accounted for, one was at the nurse so I stumbled to find the yellow card), grab the radio and turn it on, pull the enormous window drapes (on those damn cheap runners that don't slide easily so I have to tug and pull ridiculously, struggling to get them closed), glancing in the kids' direction every other second, shushing those who were giggling and not aware of the seriousness of the situation yet, all the while my heart was pumping wildly, my brain forcing me to outwardly appear calm.
When I was satisfied we were locked down sufficiently, I came to. I saw those awesome kids hunched over, in exactly the place they were suppose to be, being quiet as mice. I didn't say anything yet...was still a little stunned at what I had just done in the span of about 60 seconds. Then we heard the doorknob being roughly jostled. I suppressed my watery eyes told myself and the kids that it was the janitor checking on us (I hoped it was the janitor "checking on us" and not some "bad guy"). I honestly thought, and fervently hoped, we'd be told this was a false alarm.
After maybe 5 minutes of total silence and no word from anyone, I crawled to my email. There was one from the secretary that there was an "incident" at the other elementary school and that all the kids were safe. I thought, "That's good news," and felt somewhat relieved. Whatever this was, we'll be outta here soon. Five more minutes went by so I let the kids sit up and stretch their legs. A couple of boys wanted to talk and laugh, but they got a very stern look and finger pointed at them (do NOT. EVEN. START.), and they got it.
I got out a Magic Treehouse book (a very cute series by Mary Pope Osborn) entitled Pirates Past Noon. I began to read about Jack and Annie, two kids who are brother and sister and about 7 years old who travel through space and time in the magic treehouse. For 8 chapters we were in the Caribbean dealing with pirates and maps and treasure. That book was a tremendous help in keeping us all calm.
The radio was pretty quiet. I checked email, but there was no real news. One teacher wanted to know when we'd be released. She was told that this is not a drill. Our brains just don't go there....at least not mine. To my mind there was NO WAY anything awful had happened, even though we could hear sirens and helicopters. I knew my colleague just across the way was in her room with one adult and one child. I was wondering if she was getting a ton of work done. I knew other colleagues had been on recess duty, as many students had already gone to recess. They were in one room with over 100 students.
Recess time had come and gone, time ticked by, lunch time came and went. Chapter after chapter I was getting more and more nervous. I didn't dare say the word "bathroom." The power of suggestion is strong. But the call of nature is stronger, and kids were starting to squeeze their legs together and also complain that they were getting hungry. I told them that they could try really, really hard to hold it, or they'd have to go in the trash can. After they calmed down from hearing that news, I started mentally planning what we could do about lunch. Just as I was figuring out that we could have the kids who brought lunch from home share what they have, we were released and told lunch would be ready in a half hour.
The classroom doors opened simultaneously, the bathroom doors were locked so I unlocked them, to the great relief of many. All 480 students were on the playground and we were told to help supervise. When I finally saw my friend and colleague, she was red in the face and watery eyed. Before this registered, I jokingly asked if she got a lot of planning done? She told me "he didn't make it." WHAT? Who? WHAT THE HELL IS SHE TALKING ABOUT? I was completely confused. She had texted her grown boys to get on the internet and find out what was going on. The power of denial is so strong that when she first said that, my first thought was that she had heard a rumor that would later be proved false.
Our district is small with only 2 elementary schools and one middle school. The principal at the other elementary school (just a mile away) had been shot in his office and died. While I was reading about pirates, my principal, who had traveled to the scene, was watching her friend die while he was being taken away in an ambulance. While I was worrying about feeding the kids and makeshift trashcan toilets, she was surrounded by armed police and told she couldn't leave the scene. I thought of his wife and children, the staff at the school, the students...the whole community, how I was standing on the playground at this second, intact, safe, and grateful that I will go home alive today. But also aware of keen understanding of the notion that death can come anytime, anyday, no matter what profession you're in or how you live your life.
We decided, as we stood on the playground, to tell the kids that there was a bad guy in town and the police were searching for him, and that they found him and he's in jail, so that's why we didn't have to hide anymore. After lunch, I told them this and also, to not listen to "stories." They thought it was a robber and I didn't tell them anything different, mostly so I wouldn't have a room full of terrified children. One child asked, "Why would someone do this?" They didn't have answers and neither did I, but one boy did. He told us that "maybe his brain is rotten. Or upside down." To me, that is the perfect answer, the one that made me almost lose it for the first time, (but didn't because I hadn't told them about the shooting, and if I cry they'll know it wasn't a robber). We ended the talk with the thought that by the time they get home, it will be on the news and their parents could tell them the details.
That weekend, I came across that burgandy sweater in the dirty laundry basket. I don't think I can wear it again. I didn't get rid of it (my first reaction), but it's folded and put away. It became a symbol for the memory of that day. The day my training really kicked in and found out that maybe I am made of the right stuff for this job, the day a tragic death occurred. All the teachers and staff did what they were trained to do and not one child was harmed.
February 2, 2011, will now stand out in my mind as the distinction, or marker, between the way life was before the shooting and how it is now. I did teach a challenging math lesson, but now that particular concept will always be tagged in my mind as the "lesson I was teaching when the principal was shot." I won't be able to read a Groundhog Day story or hear about Puxatawny Phil without also thinking of this lockdown and the reasons we had to hide. Every time I hear on the news of another shooting, in a theater, or a restaurant, it all comes back to me.
The shooter, a year later, has been convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison. We all followed the trial on livewire and waited for only an hour and half for the verdict. It was the right one and there was one moment of relief, but that quickly faded as we realized that nobody wins here. This will not bring our dead principal, husband, and father of three girls, back. There is no real justice.
I will never understand how anybody can think a gun will solve everyday life problems. There is no answer to the question of "Why?" Although I think my young student was able to voice it more eloquently than anyone...his brain is just rotten, like a jack-o-lantern left on the porch for one too many nights...or upside down.
My heart goes out to the people in the movie theater, trapped under gunfire, terrified, some now mourning the loss of a child, a sibling, or a friend. The words we use to describe these sudden and violent events never ring true. Yet what else can we say to express our utter disbelief?
My experience, which took place in a small classroom on a different campus a half mile away, was traumatic for us. I can only hope and believe that it will be my one and only brush with tragedy, knowing it probably isn't. A shooting of this nature used to be a once-in-a-lifetime event, but is now something for which we prepare and train.
To the dispatchers, police, fire, EMTs, and other personnel involved in responding to these calls, thank you from the bottom of my heart and soul. I appreciate all you do to protect us.
