This post shooting conversation was different.
Perhaps because they are now thirteen, or maybe because they are both looking at high school in the very near future, or possibly because they are more political now than ever before, but this conversation was different.
They have a plan. My children have a tangible plan for what they will do if this kind of horror ever finds its way to their schools. No longer can we talk about the good, or look for the helpers; they aren't buying that line any more because they know that this is real and this happens and it could happen in the very places that they feel safe nine months of every year.
Mary has a hiding place, a spot she has identified in her school as a place she feels will shelter her from a shooter should someone get in her building. Kate has no such place but worries because two of her classes are held in rooms with one glass wall, "it would be like a fish tank Mom, a shooting gallery", so she'll run. They've spent time discussing this, and last week they discussed it with me.
No parent should need to discuss with their children where they will go when someone with an assault rifle gets into their school, and no child should ever have to make this plan.
But there we were, discussing the pros and cons of hiding versus running, the security measures in place at both schools, which teachers they feel will protect them, and the importance of speaking up if something feels wrong. There we were, last Thursday, having a very real conversation about what exactly my children would do if someone came into their school intending to kill them and their friends with an assault rifle.
Maybe this conversation was different because my children are no longer asking "why?".
They are planning and in that, accepting this as normal. It's not, it can't be. I'm angry, you should be too.
Perhaps because they are now thirteen, or maybe because they are both looking at high school in the very near future, or possibly because they are more political now than ever before, but this conversation was different.
They have a plan. My children have a tangible plan for what they will do if this kind of horror ever finds its way to their schools. No longer can we talk about the good, or look for the helpers; they aren't buying that line any more because they know that this is real and this happens and it could happen in the very places that they feel safe nine months of every year.
Mary has a hiding place, a spot she has identified in her school as a place she feels will shelter her from a shooter should someone get in her building. Kate has no such place but worries because two of her classes are held in rooms with one glass wall, "it would be like a fish tank Mom, a shooting gallery", so she'll run. They've spent time discussing this, and last week they discussed it with me.
No parent should need to discuss with their children where they will go when someone with an assault rifle gets into their school, and no child should ever have to make this plan.
But there we were, discussing the pros and cons of hiding versus running, the security measures in place at both schools, which teachers they feel will protect them, and the importance of speaking up if something feels wrong. There we were, last Thursday, having a very real conversation about what exactly my children would do if someone came into their school intending to kill them and their friends with an assault rifle.
Maybe this conversation was different because my children are no longer asking "why?".
They are planning and in that, accepting this as normal. It's not, it can't be. I'm angry, you should be too.
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