"Pop! Pop! Pop!" An empty hallway suddenly flooded with gunshots. Gasps filled the room, and organized chaos to secure an entrance began. This semester, our high school and middle school teaching staff participated in an active shooter training called "Run, Hide, Fight"; this training was conducted with our local law enforcement officers and our middle and high school staff. No students were present. Our district leaders did a great job preparing for this day. It is an important training. It is a hard training. And while I never thought I would have to do this, it is part of my reality.
When this training began, I thought I was ready for it. And then I heard that officers would be firing blanks. I grew up with hunters. I know the sound of a gun. I, myself, have shot many different types of guns. But this was different. These shots were going to be fired in my school - next to my classroom. Law enforcement told us no matter how much we tried to prepare ourselves, that once we heard gun shots, our body would react the way it is programmed to do. And once I heard gun shots, even though I told myself it was not real, my brain stem/ limbic system took control. My heartbeat raced in my chest. I could hear my heart beating in my ears, which meant my blood pressure had just shot up. Everything else seemed to be a bit muffled. Adrenaline was pumping through my body; I was able to push a couch over to the door and lift it up with one other teacher without much thought. Desks and chairs were flipped over and stacked on top of each other. My colleague took off his belt to hold the locked door shut.
We grabbed staplers, chairs, a decorative brick, my marble Teacher of the Year apple, the ends of table legs that I had removed for my flexible seating tables, and a few dowel rods that I had in my closet -- anything that could be used as a weapon. Lights were turned off. Cell phones were silenced. It took us about 30 seconds to secure my classroom. And then we waited. We waited for shots. We could not tell where they were coming from. They were loud. They echoed through the hallway bouncing off of cinder block walls. And for the most part we felt safe in my barricaded classroom. We felt safe until the door was unlocked (as part of the training), and someone tried to get in. My colleague's hands began to slip because he had been holding onto his belt that was tied around the door knob, so I dropped my brick onto the chair next to me, reached over him, and grabbed on to the belt just above his hands. Other teachers readied the objects in their hands as potential weapons. Again, my heart beat filled my ears. And this was just a drill. But it could be any school in this country. Any school.
This was a terrifying 20+ minutes. We repeated this drill two more times in different classrooms with different scenarios. But these were rooms full of adults who had just been trained. All I could think about what how much leadership it will take to calm down a class of 20 students and prepare them to run, hide, or fight.
Children need to know the plan should the unthinkable happen - yes even in small-town America. However, they should not be part of a drill like this or hear the sounds of gunshots through a hallway just to know what it sounds like. That sound was simply horrific. Last week, our elementary school practiced a crisis drill (no blanks were fired). My son, who is in second grade, is still asking me questions about the "bad guys" who come into schools. He is still asking me how I will be safe in my building. At the high school, we practiced this drill yesterday, with our students, and they were scared. They had so many questions.
The training also reinforced that at no point should teachers be carrying guns. This is the second time this year I have had members of law enforcement echo that opinion. By the time we had secured my room, my keys and phone were on the other side of the room - these items never crossed my mind as I was pushing a couch, flipping over a table, or grabbing a chair. Imagine if that were a gun. My job is to make sure that my students are safe. It is our job to lead our students to safety (run), secure our classrooms and building (hide), and then prepare to fight if needed (fight). It is our job to shut down a school so that law enforcement can get there. They are trained. They know the psychology of a shooter. We do not; we are teachers.
As a teacher, I think about how I may need to respond to a situation at school. I also think about this need to respond when I walk into a grocery store or gas station. I think about this at church. I think about this at a concert or at the zoo. I think about this just about anywhere there are people. Where are the exits? Is there an AED in case someone's heart stops? I know how to check blood sugar. I know how to use an EPI pen. I know how to tie a tourniquet. I am loud; I can direct a crowd if needed. These thoughts often go through my mind. I don't fixate on them. I just observe and notice these things. I am trained to notice because one day I may have to step in to help until law enforcement, firemen, or EMTs arrive.
In our training, we were shown FBI data. It stated that 46% of all active shooter situations occur in a public location such as a business or mall. Approximately 23% of active shooter situations occur in a school. Those numbers, however, appear to have been recently updated. This is a problem that is bigger than schools.
As a teacher, although it is not officially written in my job description, I am expected to respond. Just like my colleagues, I have looked a classroom of students in the eyes and told them that I would take a bullet before any of them. And we meant it. We still mean it. Our world is hurting, and it seems that as adults, we are too prideful to address this hurt. I often wonder what it will take for the public to respond. How many people have to be hurt and killed in an active shooter situation, a mass shooting tragedy, before it's too much? How many people have to be hurt and killed before adults from all walks of life are willing to meet each other in the middle and fight for a solution?
It sickens me that hatred and anger have become mainstream. Violence seems to be expected. I even found myself struggling to decide when push out this blog because it seemed to be too close to a national shooting, yet another occurred yesterday in Pittsburg where 11 innocent people lost their lives. This is an adaptive problem that has multiple layers to peel back if we hope to truly effect change - it is not a simple fix. It is time to put our differences aside: our kids deserve better, and their lives depend on it. Kids need adults to come to the table and look for solutions. Kids need adults who are willing to lead, to have the hard conversations and call out hatred and bigotry when we see it. Kids need adults to act like adults.
