I clearly remember where I was in April 1999 when news of the Columbine school shooting reached me. Working after school in the same classroom I still teach in, I was at my desk when a colleague entered in shock and described what was then an unthinkable event. Back then, there were no regular lockdown drills and "active shooter" was a phrase associated with war zones not school zones.
When I am preparing students for the type of drill that is supposed to keep us safe in the event of such an attack, they often ask what the point of sitting quietly under tables in the dark is. "If all the rooms seem empty, then there is no clear target," I tell them before we dutifully turn out the lights and lock the door.
In the dark, I consider the room we're in: near the front of the school, it is constructed of temporary walls made of thin metal panels and glass. Sometimes I imagine putting sliders on the filing cabinets all the way across the room from the door, so I could easily pull them out and shepherd my charges into a corner where we might be more protected by two feet of paper, certainly more hidden than we would be if someone who wished to harm us breached the flimsy barriers. But when the drill is over, those thoughts vanish, too.
Since Columbine, there have been hundreds of school shootings that have left hundreds dead, and despite the fact that I work in a school, I have become numb to the violence and death toll. There are times when I don't even read the coverage of the latest attack. But the news that all of the victims of the school massacre yesterday were kids and teachers in a single classroom gave my stomach a sickening twist, and I had to close my eyes for a moment, wondering if the gunman found them hiding quietly in the dark.
Life Lesson: Lay down your arms, America.
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