QUIET, LIKE YOU ARE SLEEPING
It is my day to aid at my son’s school. I drive the familiar route. My NPR station is on from last night. I hasten to turn it off, but a bit too late. The words guns, shooting pervade the consciousness of my six-year-old. “Did somebody die?” he asks with big wide eyes. “Someone did bad things and hurt others”, I say weighing each word. How much does he need to know?
“Is a bad person like a thief?” he continues. His only reference to evil doings is a folklore about a clever man catching a thief. We talk a little about good people and bad people or rather good things and bad things people do. My son concludes it is not good to call people bad because then they don’t have a chance to become good. I roll into the parking lot and hope we are done with this conversation.
At school, there is a new activity planned. Today we will do a “Hide and Defend” drill. We go through the routine. Morning greeting, Child of the day, Recess, Play. The usual activities are done. It is time for “the talk”. The teacher educates the kids about when it would be necessary to hide. She describes what will happen in the drill. I no longer dread the “Birds and Bees” talk.
The siren goes off. Aiding parents huddle with children in a small space behind a makeshift structure. The teachers barricade doors. Hands that strum the harp, lift up tables. Bodies that arch to hang paintings, stack chairs. No hugs and conflict resolution today. Our new curriculum focuses on “Staying Alive.”
“Quiet, Quiet” I implore the kids. “I want crayons” a plaintive voice reaches out. “Paper”, someone wails. “Is it done?” a little head peeks out. “Swish, Swoosh”, I hear the crayons. Drawing can be really noisy. “I am scared”, whispers one little girl. “Don’t be”, I rub her hand. “I am right here”. She doesn’t need to know my body isn’t bullet-proof.
America, I came to you to feel secure. Must I now teach fear?
“Look” a little girl shakes me. “Be quiet, like we are sleeping”, she points at her drawing. A child slumbers peacefully on the page. “Shhhh” says the label next to it. “It’s for you”, she hands it over and smiles.
The drill is over.
Hands, young and old, ably join to put back the room to the way it was.
“We” the people, I remember. Change requires participation.
I pick up the drawing the little girl gifted me. The children can sleep. But perhaps, it is time for us to wake up?