Lockdown

I remember the first time a school where I taught ordered a real lockdown. Area police were in pursuit of an armed man who decided to run through our campus. It was a campus with plenty of places to hide: multiple buildings with hundreds of rooms, closets, nooks, and crannies.

My classroom sat in the center of a long hallway in a building close to the edge of campus. It's single story frame offered an easy escape through the seven windows that lined the north wall of my room. But the building also offered easy access from the outside with countless windows and at least six doors that opened to the outside.

Inside my room, I had one closet filled with shelves from top to bottom and no door. Cabinets were scarce. Essentially there was nowhere to hide. Evading an intruder would be complicated even further by my large class sizes. Having survived intruder training and after watching multiple videos about how to keep my students safe in a dangerous situation, I realized that the only way I would ever be able to protect my students would be to get them out of that room quickly and quietly. I replayed the scenario over and over in my head, just in case.

Unlike many of the teachers with whom I work, I did not become a teacher until I was in my 40s. I didn't have my first classroom until 2014. The massacre at Columbine occurred in 1999 with hundreds of incidents to follow. So I knew going in that there was a possibility that one day I might have to do more than just teach English. I also knew without doubt that teaching was a step in fulfilling my life's purpose so putting my life on the line would just be something I would have to do.

On that day, when my students and I were told to lock the door, turn off the lights and be quiet until it was safe, we did as we were told. I locked the door while a few boys in the back of the room pulled the curtains across the six-foot tall windows and everyone else shifted to the side of the room and sat on the floor. One of the girls reminded the students to turn off the flash notification on their phones and to put them on silent. As I pulled the door closed, a district security officer stopped me and shoved three truant students, who I had never met, into my room. I ushered them to the side and sat them behind my desk. I remember saying to the kids, "If we have to leave the room, just follow my lead. As long as you can see me, you will be safe."

It was dark. It was silent. And then I thought, "How the fuck am I going to save 34 kids if somebody comes in here?"

I was fully trained. I felt fully prepared. Until it was real. And then I knew in my heart that it would be impossible for me to shield 34 kids from a bullet. I couldn't even really hide 34 kids. I could maybe hide three. So... which three? I could maybe shield two. So... which two? What about my other 29 students?

In less than ten minutes, the security officer returned and said we were safe to go back to normal. The three truant students rushed to their classroom. We left the curtains closed. The students remained quiet. There was nothing normal about that day.