We are deeply grieved by the recent shooting at a Florida high school in which many innocent lives were lost and families were torn apart. As we hug our families tightly, let us remember those who have suffered greatly from this tragedy and for whom life will never be the same.
“Code Red. This is a Code Red. Teachers, we are in full lockdown.”
I was volunteering in my son’s second grade classroom, helping out with math centers as I did on a weekly basis. Kids were spread out all over the room. Some students were playing math games, others at the teacher’s desk, while several also worked independently on tablets both in the classroom and sitting right outside in the hallway. The environment was exactly the kind of picturesque setting you pray your child’s classroom will look and feel like. The energy in the classroom was light, happy, warm, friendly, and full of endless smiles from eager learners.
Then we heard the intercom announcement, “Code Red.” My son’s teacher sprung into action as did all the students. The door was shut, lights turned out, window blinds closed. The teacher swiftly moved the students into their designated safe spot, while she whispered reminders to be still and completely quiet. I was extremely impressed by her leadership and preparedness. As the silence fell over us all, it began to register with me that my son’s teacher was not just following a drill. I looked at her face and I knew that she did not know if this was a drill or not. These seven-year-old children and their precious teacher had just switched from teaching and learning into survival mode in less than one minute.
My heart raced as I thought about my kindergartner, just down the hall doing the same thing with his teacher and his classmates. Five year olds, and their teacher who I know is a mother herself, all huddled together preparing for the worst. The students and the teachers at this school were prepared and trained. They implemented the plan swiftly and effectively. I looked at my son’s teacher that day as she sat in front of 20 children, physically shielding them, willing to protect them with her own life. The depth of that love, and the tragedy of that requirement, lay heavy on my heart.
My sons attend an amazing community school, where I consider their teachers my friends. My boys are encouraged and challenged, they are loved and protected at this school. Neighbors often call our school a “bubble” because it is just that kind of special place were you feel like you are part of a family. “Code Red. Teachers, we are on full lockdown,” reminded me that even this bubble couldn’t seal away my children from the dangers of the outside world. They are growing up understanding what an intruder is and how to hide from people who intend to harm them.
Later that evening when I put my son to sleep, I asked him if he was scared during that drill. “No, Mommy, it’s not scary because Mrs. W. is there with us and she says it will be okay.” His innocence, it washes over me and I hold him a little longer that night. I say a prayer that night and I thank the Lord that “Code Red” was just a drill today. I tuck him in bed and turn off the lights. Tomorrow I will take him back to that school and leave him. I will cling to the hope that “Code Red” will always remain just a drill.
Mrs. W. will teach him the next day, and he will laugh with his friends, eat cafeteria food, and come home with homework. The bubble will stay intact, and he will be just a second grader. Part of me wants to turn back, to grab him up and keep home with me where I know he is safe. I wave goodbye and I let him go again, because Code Red doesn’t get to win today.
