We are huddled quietly in the dark in the middle of my art room. There are twenty-seven teenagers trying to become small to fit in a little space away from windows and doors. We whisper and snicker. They look at me and I at them and assure them were it not a drill I would have smashed them all into the supply closet. But let me go back to the looking…. They are looking at me because I am the leader, the teacher, and the writer of bathroom passes. I hold the power. I can administer an epi-pen, catch a fainting freshman that didn’t eat breakfast, sew a backpack, make a poster to ask someone to prom, and I can teach art.

I studied and practiced many aspects of visual arts, I learned about adolescent psychology, and I am a mandated reporter. There are more things that a teacher does in 1 hour than you would care to read. There are nuances to numerous to name that fan out far from the unit on mixing color, and yet we can always fit in one more skill, one more way to reach, explain or demonstrate in a way that all 27 kids can understand. Teachers will always go that extra step. But no matter how much I admire the people in my profession and think my colleagues are amazing, we cannot stop a bullet. We have stepped in between a fight, made urgent medical decisions, and fixed an outfit gone wrong.

Kids are just that,  kids. They are impetuous, foolish and risk taking. We do our best to keep them safe. Teachers often see on the first day of class the kids who will need our time and attention, the student who might have issues at home or mental health issues, and just like the student with a bad cold or a headache, we try to get help. It isn’t always easy and the process of documenting behavior is ongoing, but the last thing this child needs is easy access to an automatic weapon, a weapon used by our military, used in war. A weapon meant only to kill.

https://www.sandyhookpromise.org