Second Home

My classroom always felt like my second home to me and to my students. It had to. I wasn't comfortable otherwise. I had bean bag chairs on the rug in the reading corner and pictures of all the students family members up on the walls (including my own). We had rules and schedules to follow but it was all pretty cool and together.

My kids and I were comfortable and learning and communicating and it always felt like they were a part of me for the 10 months that I had them all to myself. We were respectful and cooperative (most of the time) and we tried very hard to be 'good citizens' in our classroom and school community.

I looked forward to going to our classroom and spending quality learning time in there. It was ours. We respected it and tried to keep it pretty. (As pretty as you could get in a NYC classroom...grey concrete isn't always that luscious.)

Once in a while, we'd have a practice fire drill where we'd have to line up quickly and evacuate the premises as quickly and quietly as we could. It was all very routine for all of us. We had it down to a science. But if faced with the rush of a real fire, would we be able to evacuate safely?

I always had the Columbine Tragedy etched in my memory. It was still a fresh wound in our teaching-hearts. And it made me more aware of the terrible things that people do in desperation. But this was my home. Nothing could happen in my home.

Early one morning, I was called by my principal on the "bat phone" (we used to call it)...He spoke calmly and asked me to please remain calm while he asked me if I had any family in the Twin Towers. I calmly uttered 'no' while he quickly instructed me to act as if nothing was wrong and to please close the window shades and doors and keep the kids calm and IN THE ROOM. (The towers were visible from MY room.) No bathroom trips, no unexpected trips to the yard for an art experiment and no discussing the collapse and attack of the first Tower.

I remained calm. It was all too surreal to act any differently.

I only knew these kids as my own for one and a half days. It was first period and we were right in the middle of a "Getting to Know You Conference". We were all sitting on the floor with the desks shoved in the corners. Giggling and laughing about one kid's pet Chinchilla and his dust baths. Then the shit hit the fan.

People running through the hallways and talking loudly in a panicked tone prompted the kids to question the commotion. (They were sixth graders and street smart..they knew something was up). I waited until word from my Principal to say anything and while immigrant kids were being escorted out of the building by extremely frightened parents, I began to discuss the matter as openly and calmly as I could with the kids. It was scary.

We had an emergency assembly with the remaining students and had to wait until about 6pm until all the kid's parents were present and accounted for. Surprisingly 'only' one little kindergartener lost her Daddy that day in the entire school. (One too many in our school family)

We were in a state of panic.

After that. It just wasn't ever the same.

Emergency lock downs were practiced and bomb drills were rehearsed on a weekly basis. They are not the same as a fire drill I assure you.

Locking two classroom doors, covering all the windows and remaining mouse-quiet with 30+ children at the back of the room while you wait for the 'secret code' to come over the loudspeaker to let you know the intruder is out of the building or being detained is scary stuff. That I can promise you.

Yes, they were only drills. However, they were constant reminders that things have changed. The once homey classroom felt like a prison that we couldn't escape in the clutches of terror if need be.

I saw the kids differently after that. They had their own lives to live and families to protect them. Who was I? I was just a scared and newly-wed woman who wanted to go home to her own family, but whose responsibility was to protect her young charges. Could I? If faced with such a tragedy as the other day at VA Tech., could I protect my students if their life depended on it?

I pray that I could.

I send all of my love to those families from Virginia. And those brave and honorable teachers who lost their lives trying to protect their students. In an institution that is supposed to be a safe-haven and a second home, it was invaded and lives were taken. I am reeling.