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School Lockdowns: Not Everything Is Okay
It was just another day at school. I had dashed out to grab a quick lunch and hurried back in hopes of catching up on some paperwork, eating, and maybe squeezing in a bathroom break before my middle school class began. Using my staff access pass, I stepped through the doors and climbed the quiet staircase, knowing I had about 15 minutes before the calm atmosphere gave way to the usual chaos of changing classes.
As I settled into my classroom, the clock reminded me it was time to take that bathroom break. I walked down the hall to the teachers’ restroom, only to find the door locked. This was unusual, but I figured there might be maintenance issues. I turned to head downstairs to another restroom when suddenly, our vice principal’s voice came over the PA system: “Please remain in your rooms.” The tone was calm and reassuring, so I returned to my classroom. It took just a few moments for everything to click into place—the class change had come and gone, the halls were empty, the bathroom doors were still locked, and the PA announcement—it dawned on me that I had just stepped into a school lockdown.
Fire drills had been a routine part of our schedule for years, but it was only after the Sandy Hook tragedy that we began practicing lockdowns in case of an intruder, or what training videos ominously refer to as a “live shooter.” Each time, the air thickens with anxiety—knowing it’s a drill doesn’t eliminate the “what if” scenarios running through your mind. Given the increasing frequency of mass shootings, it’s hard not to imagine the worst. During these drills, I typically hide with my students, remaining calm while mentally preparing for how I would protect them if the situation became real.
This time, however, I was alone. Realizing we were in a lockdown, I quickly secured my classroom door and found my hiding spot. I could see a computer from where I was crouched and peek out the window to the front of the building. It was then that I noticed an email from our principal: “Only open the door if law enforcement uses our code word.” A chill ran down my spine as I glanced out to see police officers entering the building with rifles drawn, ready to search for an intruder. This was no drill.
Shortly after, another email arrived, informing us that our nearby elementary school—the same one my son attended—was also in lockdown. Panic set in as I realized my 5-year-old was just two blocks away, and I was powerless to protect him. I quickly typed an email to my family, my hands shaking as I shared my fear and confusion.
I could hear helicopters circling overhead and the rattling of a door as someone tried to gain entry. When a figure entered my room and simply said “police”—without the code word—I felt my heart drop. Should I speak? Remain silent? I could see the officer moving around, rifle in hand, and I froze. All I could think was that my little boy was experiencing something similar just a short distance away. Gathering my courage, I stepped out, and upon seeing me, the officer told me I had chosen a good hiding spot, but to go back and conceal myself. His words only made me weep quietly in my corner. The search felt interminable, yet it was under an hour.
Finally, an announcement came over the PA: “All clear.” Both buildings had been thoroughly checked, and thankfully, everyone was safe. I felt numb. With only a short window before the students switched classes, I had to gather myself for them. My instinct was to rush to the elementary school, pull my son out, and hold him tightly, but I resisted. I knew he was better off in his classroom, where his teacher would guide them through this experience and provide some sense of normalcy.
When the school day ended, I hurried to find my son. I fought back tears, trying to maintain a brave face. Seeing him smile as he rushed to the playground brought a wave of relief. But I also needed to thank his teacher, to express my gratitude for everything she had done for him and the other students. The words just wouldn’t come, as the weight of appreciation felt overwhelming.
Everything is not fine.
Together, WE CAN DO THIS. It’s up to us to combat gun violence and create a safer environment for our children. Explore ways to make a difference at Everytown. For more information on home insemination, visit Make a Mom. If you’re considering pregnancy options, check out this excellent resource on IVF.
Summary:
This article recounts a personal experience during a school lockdown, detailing the anxiety and fear felt not just for oneself, but for loved ones, especially children. It emphasizes the importance of support systems and the need for community action against violence.