I need to get something off of my chest that has been bothering me today. Over the past couple of months, Kansas teachers have been under attack from our state government. We have been stripped of our right to due process. Our school funds have been "increased" according to our governor, but districts across the state are cutting teachers and increasing class sizes in order to keep budgets in check. With all of the added stress, budget cuts, and frustration, one thing remains at the forefront of a teacher's mind: creating a safe learning environment.
You see, yesterday we received notice from our administration that a student had written a threat directed towards our school. With this email, we teachers knew that administration was doing everything needed so that we could have a secure and safe day of learning today. As usual, when something like this happens, I called my own parents to let them know what was going on at school in case they saw it on the news. My dad and stepmom are veteran educators. They knew what to expect; they know what a threat like this means. My mom, on the other hand, did not. That's when it dawned on me that the public only sees the aftermath of a school crisis, the endless tears, the frenzy -- a parent's worst nightmare. They do not know what goes on inside a building as we work through our crisis plans. They do not know the thoughts that go through a teacher's brain as we work to keep their children, our children, safe.
Each year, we begin our "Welcome Back" professional development days with a visit from our local law enforcement. We spend an entire afternoon going over our crisis plans. Asking questions. Thinking through scenarios. Lockdowns. Bomb threats. Intruders. Nothing says welcome back like visualizing a S.W.A.T. team sweeping the hallways of your building, your second home. It is at this time that teachers, who I might add make the worst students, are silent. We are listening, goosebumps on our arms, our stomach in knots because we know that we are not immune to violence. But we are ready. This is our home, these are our kids, and we will keep them safe at any cost -- ANY cost.
I work in a safe town, in a safe school; however, this does not mean that I sit idly by and pretend that a crisis will never occur. No, instead, I am constantly thinking about "what ifs". I am acutely aware at all times where I am, who is around me, and what is happening. It's my job. It is my job to know what to do if an intruder is in the building. It is my job to help move students into the tornado shelters in the face of an impending storm. It is my job to know how to keep a class of students calm. It is my job to know what to do if a student has a seizure in class or how inject a student with an Epi Pen if he or she is having an allergic reaction; nowhere will you find that written in my contract. Do we talk about it with others outside of education, no, not really. Until you have looked a class full of students in the eyes and told them that if the unthinkable happened, you would put yourself in front of them or take a bullet for them, then you cannot possibly understand the job of a teacher. We are entrusted with another person's most precious gift: a child. These children become our children. This is what we do, EVERY day, not just the days when a threat is made.
Today, we had a great day. Today went off without a hitch. Our administration did an outstanding job. Law enforcement made their presence known. In my class, it was business as usual. We reviewed for our final test. One of my students asked me if I was scared today. My response was, "No, we have a plan. We know our plan. We've studied our plan. We trust our plan." I then said, "Trust your teachers. We know the plan." She smiled, took a deep breath, and then we were able to continue learning. Only a teacher understands that this is all in a day's work.
