I’ve envisioned how mass shooting would play out in my school. As a responsible teacher I know the processes if I got notice that there was an intruder in my school. I’ve played this out like a movie in my mind: check the hall, lock the door, put the students in the back closet, carefully explain to students what is going on and keep them calm. I’ve thought about what would happen if a shooter made it into our cafeteria during lunch time and what my role would be in that moment. It’s a horrible and scary thing to do, but it’s my responsibility as a teacher to be prepared.
I’ve never thought about how I would deal with a mass shooter outside of school, until last week.
I was pushing the shopping cart, trying to keep Ethan entertained. He is in a wonderful stage where he is fully exploring language. He is trying to name things, and communicate more actively through words. It truly is a joy when he realizes that I understand exactly what he is saying and we are connected through language. The down side of this is that along with the moments when he communicates clearly with me, there is frustration when he cannot make himself understood.
Ethan is screaming for something, but I have little idea what he is saying, so I’m literally pulling off whatever I can imagine that he would want from the shelves to satiate him long enough to finish the grocery shopping. Loaf of bread! Nope. Apple sauce? Nope. Oh, saltine crackers!
I’m going through the aisles trying to focus on what I need to buy, and where I need to go to get the items. As I shop, I’m reorganizing the shopping list in my brain by location so I can make the shortest route around the store. At the same time, I’m feeding Ethan saltine crackers. He’s eating two at a time, dropping crumbs as he eats, and then angrily demanding more.
As my brain tried to manage all of these thoughts, something shifted, and suddenly as I looked down an aisle, I wondered, “what am I going to do if a shooter comes into this store?” The image of the security guard I passed as I walked into the store came to mind. Could this guard so anything if a shooter came into the store? Did he have a gun or a taser? What should I do if I hear shots? Could I jump behind the deli counter while holding Ethan and escape out the back?
I took a deep breath, as a I felt a cracker Ethan threw hit my face. Ethan then managed to stand up, wiggle out of his restraints in the shopping cart and flop forward. I caught him and he leaned into me. Ethan grabbed my shirt collar with one arm and wrapped his other arm around my neck. I tried to get him to sit down, but he refused. Part of me was getting frustrated that he wouldn’t just sit, but I let that feeling past. I gave up on trying to get him to sit down in the cart, and shopping all together and just pulled him out of the cart into my arms.
I held him against my chest and felt his head rest on my shoulder against the side of my neck. I kissed him on the head gently, and inhaled softly taking care to notice his scent. I looked down the empty aisle looking beyond for something I longed for, something I needed, and something I hoped beyond cynicism that I would someday find.
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