It started as an ordinary day. I had just dashed out to grab a quick lunch and was trying to get back to my desk to catch up on work before my middle school class. I used my staff access pass, and the door opened automatically. Climbing the quiet stairs, I knew I had about 15 minutes before the calm would explode into the chaotic rush of students changing classes. I headed to my classroom, ready to dive into the day’s tasks.
A glance at the clock reminded me to take that bathroom break. As I approached the teachers’ restroom, I found the door locked. It struck me as odd, but I assumed something must be broken. I turned to head downstairs to another restroom when an announcement crackled through the PA system: “Please remain in your classrooms.” The vice principal’s calm voice was reassuring, but it struck me that something was off. Upon returning to my classroom, the pieces began to fit together. The bell had rung, yet the hallways remained eerily quiet. The restrooms were locked, and that voice on the PA—I had unknowingly stepped into a school lockdown.
While fire drills have been a staple for years, it was only after the Sandy Hook tragedy that lockdown drills became common practice, training students to hide in case of an intruder or, as some instructional videos describe it, a “live shooter.” Each drill brings a wave of anxiety. You know it’s just a drill, yet the question of “what if?” looms large. Given the frequency of mass shootings, it’s easy to spiral into worst-case scenarios. During drills, I usually hide with my students, staying composed while mentally strategizing how to protect them if it were real.
Today, however, I was alone. Realizing we were in lockdown, I swiftly locked my classroom door and found my hiding spot. I could see a computer screen from my concealed position and occasionally peeked out the window. It was there that I noticed an email from our principal: “Only open the door if the code word is used.” A chill ran down my spine. I glanced outside and saw police officers entering the building, rifles drawn, prepared to search for an intruder. This wasn’t just a drill.
Then came another email, revealing that not only was my middle school locked down, but so was the nearby elementary school—where my 5-year-old son was located. Panic washed over me; my son was two blocks away, and I felt utterly helpless. I quickly emailed my family, my hands trembling as I typed, expressing my fear and uncertainty.
Suddenly, I heard helicopters buzzing overhead. I then heard someone attempt to enter my room, announcing just “police”—without the crucial code word. My heart sank. Should I stay hidden or reveal myself? I could see the officer moving around, rifle in hand, and the thought of my son facing the same terror not far away intensified my fear. I gathered the courage to step out, and he spotted me—there I stood, alone and in tears. He reassured me I’d chosen a good hiding spot, but his words only made me feel smaller. The officers continued their search. Safety was still a distant thought, even though less than an hour had passed.
Finally, an announcement came over the PA: “All clear.” Both schools had been thoroughly checked, and there was no threat. I felt numb. With just 15 minutes until the students switched classes, I struggled to regain my composure for their arrival. I wanted to rush to the elementary school to pull my son out and hold him close, but I knew he needed to remain with his classmates and teacher for a sense of normalcy. His teacher would guide them through this, keeping their minds engaged with activities rather than the fear of lockdown.
At day’s end, I hurried to find my son, fighting back tears as I put on a brave face. When I saw him, he was beaming, eager to play on the playground. I took a deep breath, relieved. But I still needed to express my gratitude to his teacher, to thank her for her courage in protecting my child and many others. Words failed to capture my appreciation.
The unsettling truth remains: everything is not fine.
Summary
This piece illustrates the harrowing experience of a school lockdown from the perspective of a teacher who finds herself alone during a drill that becomes all too real. The emotions of fear, helplessness, and gratitude for the educators nurturing our children amidst such uncertainty are palpable. Such instances underscore the urgent need for change regarding gun violence and the safety of our schools.