As I was preparing for work one morning, my 10-year-old son, Ethan, crept into the master bathroom. Something was clearly bothering him. I paused my routine and asked what was wrong. After a moment of hesitation, he finally admitted he had a nightmare, but then he fell silent, lost in thought.
He eventually spoke up, “I dreamed that someone bad came into our school…” His voice trailed off, leaving a heavy silence.
I recalled a recent notice from the school about an active shooter drill. When I asked if that was what frightened him, he nodded, his eyes downcast. In a barely audible whisper, he confessed, “Mom, I’m scared to go to school.” My heart shattered at his words. He had been exposed to a dark truth about the world that I had tried so hard to shield him from.
There was a time when we introduced our children to the harsh realities of life through stories and history—tales like Where the Red Fern Grows and Bridge to Terabithia, and discussions about the tragic assassinations of figures like Martin Luther King Jr. and John F. Kennedy. We did so gradually, aware of their innocence.
But the thought that my son feared for his safety in elementary school was unbearable. I wanted to reassure him that such a tragedy could never happen to him, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
Ethan was in first grade when the Sandy Hook tragedy struck in 2012. While I can’t fathom the sorrow felt by those families, I know that the impact echoed across the country, even reaching my small town in Missouri. Dropping Ethan off at school after that horrific day, I was overwhelmed with tears—tears I tried to hide from my cheerful, oblivious boy. I mourned for the families affected, and I mourned for the moment when Ethan would learn just how cruel the world could be.
This week, our local police chief spoke to the elementary classes, addressing safety and the Sandy Hook incident. I trust that the discussion was handled delicately, but my sensitive son still grappled with anxiety.
I pulled him close and took a deep breath, preparing to share my thoughts. “Ethan, I love you. Bringing you into this world was the best thing that ever happened to me. But one truth no one prepares parents for is the constant worry we hold for our children. Some days, I wish I could wrap you in bubble wrap. I understand your fears, because I have them too. All I want is to keep you safe and for you and your siblings to live fulfilling lives with as little suffering as possible.”
“There are many good people in the world, and most want the same for their families as we do. Yet, there are bad people too. It’s the responsibility of the good to remain vigilant,” I explained.
“Fear is a powerful force. Governments can use it to manipulate their citizens. We are fortunate to live in a country where we can think freely and express ourselves, yet with that freedom comes its challenges. You need to decide whether fear will control you or if you will acknowledge it and then tuck it away to carry on with your life.”
In my profession, I’m trained to prepare for every possible negative scenario, especially when it comes to procedures like implanting pacemakers. I pack a bag with tools and plans for various complications that might arise. However, I always enter each case hoping for the best outcome, wishing to never have to use what’s inside. Nonetheless, I know it’s there, I know how to use it, and I’ve rehearsed the “If… thens…” for each situation.
“Your school drill is akin to that emergency bag,” I continued. “I hope you never have to open it, but if the need arises, it’s vital to know that it exists and how to utilize it. I regret that we live in a world where such precautions are necessary. I wish it weren’t so.”
After a long embrace, he nodded softly, and I encouraged him to get ready for school. I reminded him of the wonderful community we lived in, aware that such reassurances don’t guarantee safety. I asked him what evidence he had that he was unsafe at school, and he admitted there was none. I felt a pang of guilt for trying to soothe him in a world I cannot control. I kissed him multiple times and held him tightly before he went to get dressed. As I closed the door behind him, I let the tears fall.
Then, I composed myself, packed my emotional baggage, and fervently hoped that I would never have to unpack it.
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In summary, active shooter drills, while necessary for safety, can instill fear in our children, challenging our role as parents to provide reassurance in a world filled with uncertainty.