Today was like any other Monday morning.
My house slowly awakened to the reality of a new week. Sleepy feet dragged across the floor, children were gently nudged out of deep slumber, even the dog didn’t want to leave his cozy bed to venture outside for his morning business.
Frozen waffles were warmed in the toaster, school lunch was made, and I negotiated with my daughter like I do every morning about the number of books she could take to school.
We loaded into the car and listened to our favorite radio station as I drove her to school.
We waited in carline.
When our turn came, she opened the door to climb out and I said the routine, “I love you monkey, see you this afternoon.”
I watched her walk away, loaded down by a bulging backpack that was clearly evidence of my lack of negotiation skills.
I was only a few minutes away from the school when I got the text.
An unverified out of state threat had been made towards my daughter’s elementary school. Police had been dispatched. The school was on a code yellow.
I looked at the text, disbelieving at first. Not even really clear what I was reading.
“Code yellow? What is code yellow?” I’m thinking.
This is the new normal.
Moments later, my husband forwards me the text. “Did you get this?” he asks.
My phone rings, it’s another mom from my daughter’s class. “Are you going to get your daughter? I don’t know what to do. I hate this is the world we are living in.”
“I know,” I say as I’m already turning my car around. “I’m heading back to the school, I’ll let you know what is going on.”
I’m trying to think. Trying not to overact. Trying to not be “That” parent.
Then I remember, I actually saw a police officer in full SWAT gear standing there on the sidewalk as I dropped off my daughter. Why didn’t I think that was strange? Why didn’t I ask one of the teachers in carline what was going on?
But police at the school isn’t unusual anymore.
This is the new normal.
My phone rings again. It’s my husband. “What should I do? Do you want me to take her out of school?” I ask him. “I just don’t know,” he says. There is a long silence. “I’m headed back to the school,” I tell him. “I’m going to see how crazy it is there. I’ll let you know what I decide.”
I see my call waiting light up. I see who is calling and I know I have to take the call.
I hang up on my husband and answer the waiting call. Sobbing on the other end. “It’s okay,” I say. “They’re okay. Take a breath.”
It’s a friend whose child also goes to the school. I know too well how she worries. This is her nightmare.
“Why is this happening,” she cries. “Why didn’t they tell us sooner so we could decide if we wanted to keep them home. Should I go get him?”
“I’m headed to the school,” I tell her. “I’ll call you when I get there. It will be alright.”
“Do you think they told the kids?” she asks. “Do you think they’ve told them what is going on?” Do you think they’re scared?”
“I have no idea,” I say honestly.
This is the new normal.
As I approach the school I see there’s already a news van parked across the street. I see the main lot is full and parents are parking in the lot next to the school. It’s a partially open-air school, so I can see a line of parents coming out of the main office and spilling out in front of the school. I see the police standing in front of the entrances.
I park and I wait. I admit I expected parents to be storming the school. I expected chaos, but things look surprisingly calm.
I’m trying to figure out if the school is releasing the kids. I don’t even bother to call, I can imagine hundreds of parents are already trying to get through.
I see parents walking by my car; I see the looks of panic, concern and even anger.
The anger is what I feel at this moment.
I sit there a little longer trying to figure out what to do. Everything looks okay, but I don’t even know exactly what the “unverified threat” is – a bomb, a shooting, something else…
I don’t want to make things worse. I don’t want to scare my daughter more by yanking her out of school when everything is fine. But is everything really fine?
This is the new normal.
Another text from another mom with a child in my daughter’s class. “I hear you’re at the school, is everything okay? Are you getting your daughter?”
I describe what I’m seeing and tell her I still haven’t figured out if they’re releasing the kids.
I call back the friend. “I’m here, it all looks really calm,” I say to reassure her. As I’m talking to her I start to see kids being brought from their classrooms to their waiting parents a few at a time.
“It looks like they are letting parents get their kids,” I tell my friend. “You should come get him. You’re only going to worry all day, go ahead and come get him. Better safe than sorry.”
As the words come out of my mouth, I finally have my answer. I text my husband and the various other moms and let them know I’m getting my daughter.
I get out of my car and join the growing crowd of parents headed towards the school office.
We’re being directed to the end of the line and instructed to get out our driver’s licenses. They’ll get to each of us as they can. A few are asking questions of the police, trying to get more information. Many are on cell phones, clearly trying to reassure anxious parents not there, not sure what is happening, not knowing what they should do.
Children are coming down in small groups. You can see the confusion on their faces as they scan the crowd for their parents.
This is the new normal.
I take my place in line. I wait. I felt numb.
Am I being ridiculous?
But the images that have become all too frequent on the news and social media play in a loop in my mind. I see kids running from school followed by SWAT teams. I see parents with tears streaming down their faces as they embrace their children and know they were safe. I see the interviews with the students who survived and the ones with the parents of those who did not.
I think back to this morning. “I love you monkey, see you this afternoon.”
What if I didn’t see her this afternoon….
This is the new normal.
When I reach the front of the line I hand over my driver’s license. They take my daughter’s name and classroom and point me to a waiting area.
I stand there with the other waiting parents. We’re quiet. So quiet. No one is on their phones, not even looking at their phones, we’re all just staring in the direction of where our kids should come from.
I see my daughter in the distance.
And suddenly, there are tears – hot, fierce tears stinging the backs and corners of my eyes. I feel my throat catching. I feel all the tension I didn’t even know had been building.
“No. No. No.” I’m thinking. “Not now. She can’t see this. I’m not going to upset her anymore.”
I look down. I take a deep breath. I swallow hard. Then I look back up and put a smile on my face. The most real one I can manage.
She walks up to me and I can see the relief. “Hey there Monkey!” I say and take her hand so I can start leading her away.
She glances back and the school, the waiting parents, the police in all their gear.
“What must she be thinking,” I wonder.
She looks up at me, searching my face, wanting me to make sense of all of this.
“It’s okay, it’s all okay,” I lie as we walk past the reporters filming us leaving the school.
THIS IS NOT NORMAL ……..
The threat made against my daughter’s school came from an online gaming chat. By the end of the school day, the threat had been traced to a high school student in the same school system as my daughter. He was arrested. We still don’t know any specifics about the threat.
The local police and the school took the only path of action that most completely ensured the safety of the children and staff at the school. I am beyond grateful that they took the threat seriously and acted accordingly.
Since the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas in February estimates put the number of threats like the one at my daughter’s school today at anywhere between 300 on the low end to over 600 on the high end. Threats against schools have increased almost five fold.
To imagine this is going on at schools around the country every day leaves me without words. Think of what this is doing to our schools, the staff and our children.
As a mother, I’ve cried every time there’s been another school shooting. My heart has been broken over and over again. But when you’re seeing it unfold on a screen, you are still removed, there is still distance, there is still some naïve sense of safety. It’s not your kid(s).
Today it is was my kid.
This Doesn’t Have To Be The New Normal
As parents, we have more power to bring about positive change than we realize. There isn’t one solution. There is room for us to all find a place that fits within our personal belief system and start there. So, let’s start………
StudentsAgainstViolenceEverywhere
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