Yesterday morning I had to meet another mother at school, and she was caught in traffic. The library has lots of great magazines -- most especially The New Yorker -- and so I told her to meet me there. I was well into an article about a guy who donates (donated? didn't get to finish) copies of art work to various museums, when a voice on the loudspeaker came on and announced a "Shelter In Place" drill.
Hmm. I wondered. What is that?
And then the head librarian shooed all of us into a room within the library, turned off all the lights, and locked the door. We sat in silence for about three minutes.
During the first five seconds, I actually started crying (thank god I was quiet because I was in there with a pack of high school girls), thinking how completely crazy we are to live in a place where we contemplate (and practice for!) situations in which we would all need to hide (presumably from someone who got through the two very thick walls and with strong gates and into the school). I wondered what Lizzie's teacher was telling the little kids to keep them quiet? And where was Tommy and was this unsettling at all for him?
And then I thought about the Navy Yard massacre and felt for one moment a bit better because, damn, these things happen in the US all. the. time. and the kids' school here is incredibly safe. And then after that flicker of feeling better I felt completely depressed because, my god, isn't there anywhere you can raise your kids and feel like they are safe? (This train of thought is indicative of my mental state lately; optimism and 'the bright side' are hard to come by.)
At pick up, I asked Lizzie's teacher about the drill and she explained that they go in a corner of the classroom, pull all the blinds, turn out the lights, lock all the doors (Lizzie's classroom has doors onto the playground as well as into the hall) and then play the "let's all be very, very quiet game." When Tommy arrived home after soccer practice, I asked him about the drill and he said they all went against the cupboards and were really quiet. I asked him what the drill was for. He said, "for if the bad guys get into school, of course" but in a very matter-of-fact, not-at-all-worried way.
So I've decided for the moment that this is one of those things that falls into the same category as Lizzie thinking that every screen is a touch screen: a difference in the world that my kids will always know and be used to. I still know what to do if there's an earthquake; they'll always know what to do if bad guys gain access to their school. This is just the way things are.
Hmm. I wondered. What is that?
And then the head librarian shooed all of us into a room within the library, turned off all the lights, and locked the door. We sat in silence for about three minutes.
During the first five seconds, I actually started crying (thank god I was quiet because I was in there with a pack of high school girls), thinking how completely crazy we are to live in a place where we contemplate (and practice for!) situations in which we would all need to hide (presumably from someone who got through the two very thick walls and with strong gates and into the school). I wondered what Lizzie's teacher was telling the little kids to keep them quiet? And where was Tommy and was this unsettling at all for him?
And then I thought about the Navy Yard massacre and felt for one moment a bit better because, damn, these things happen in the US all. the. time. and the kids' school here is incredibly safe. And then after that flicker of feeling better I felt completely depressed because, my god, isn't there anywhere you can raise your kids and feel like they are safe? (This train of thought is indicative of my mental state lately; optimism and 'the bright side' are hard to come by.)
At pick up, I asked Lizzie's teacher about the drill and she explained that they go in a corner of the classroom, pull all the blinds, turn out the lights, lock all the doors (Lizzie's classroom has doors onto the playground as well as into the hall) and then play the "let's all be very, very quiet game." When Tommy arrived home after soccer practice, I asked him about the drill and he said they all went against the cupboards and were really quiet. I asked him what the drill was for. He said, "for if the bad guys get into school, of course" but in a very matter-of-fact, not-at-all-worried way.
So I've decided for the moment that this is one of those things that falls into the same category as Lizzie thinking that every screen is a touch screen: a difference in the world that my kids will always know and be used to. I still know what to do if there's an earthquake; they'll always know what to do if bad guys gain access to their school. This is just the way things are.
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