"One of the most
calming & powerful
actions you can do
to intervene in a
stormy world is
to stand up and
show your soul."
~ Clarissa Pinkola Estes
In the Line of Fire
I WAS SIPPING my favorite tea as I unfolded the newspaper. The mug slid from my hand as I read the headline: 26 Dead in Elementary School Shooting, including 20 Children.
This unthinkable violence didn’t occur in a war-torn Middle East country; it happened in Newtown, CT, population barely 30,000. In our own backyard. Your yard. My yard. The yards where our children and grandchildren play tag and hide-and-seek. Children who write letters to Santa Claus and dream about gifts he will magically deliver. Innocent children. Babies, really.
I reached out to my friend ‘Sue,’ an elementary school counselor. “How do schools respond to this?" I asked. "How will your district deal with the aftermath?"
The Sandy Hook shootings occurred around 9:30 AM. Sue said that, by noon, she and several other
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counselors were summoned by the superintendent. He wanted to reach out to parents as quickly as possible and asked the counselors to review an email he had drafted, then immediately sent it. He recorded a voicemail message which was delivered to parents using the automated calling system the school uses to notify them of school closings.
In it, he told parents the safety of their children has always been the top priority of every person who works for the district. The police and fire chiefs were re-evaluating existing school safety procedures. He was making sure all his teachers had the resources they needed to answer questions and deal with any children who were upset. Guidance counselors were available for individual discussions with children or their parents. He was committed to doing whatever he could to create the safest environment possible for their children.
Not a ‘safe’ environment. Those days are gone. Sue reminded me that schools can’t guarantee the safety of their students. No one can. The best the superintendent could realistically offer was to create the safest environment possible.
“How can we improve school safety?” I asked.
Sue explained that entry doors to buildings in her district were locked during school hours. Visitors were required to press a buzzer and identify themselves before being ‘buzzed in.’ She drew a deep breath then continued, “But, that’s only in the high schools. We responded to what happened at Columbine. The doors to our elementary schools are unlocked. No one ever imagined something like this would happen at an elementary school."
I asked if her school district would install buzzers in the elementary schools, as well. She said, “We need to see what the police chief recommends. And then there’s the expense: A buzzer system costs about $6500. I’m going to push for it. We all are.”
When I asked how she would deal with students on Monday, she said, “One at a time. I’ll be here for the parents, too. Many of them will need to be reassured.”
Then she said something that sent a cold chill down my spine. “I’ve always told the parents of my students ‘I would take a bullet for your child; that’s my job. The safety of your child, of all our students, is my top priority.’”
When I was able to speak, I said I was proud of her, and I thanked her. She was surprised and a little flustered. She assured me that any teacher in her school would say the same thing.
It’s a gut-wrenching reality that no one can guarantee the safety of our school children. In a country where these tragedies strike with nearly unbearable frequency, I take comfort in knowing there are school teachers and administrators like my friend Sue.
And I'm overwhelmed with sadness that we live in a time when, to protect a student, she may need to step in front of a bullet.
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A Grandmother's Prayer
If I could,
sweet granddaughter of mine,
these things I’d steal from you
and store deep down in my pocket,
yes, deep down in my pocket
with my small change.
Your bubblegum kisses
That dimple on your cheek
The fresh-as-rain scent of your hair
The mischief gleaming in your eyes
Those dirty fingernails
(Are they ever clean?)
The puddle of tears
when you fall and skin your knee
trying to outrun the wind.
Your shrieks of laughter
when I find you hidden, yet again,
behind the closet door.
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Your giggle,
tinkling like piano keys,
when I tickle the small of your back.
The squeak of your wet feet in the tub
as you step into the towel
I hold open for you.
Your blonde hair
glowing like 1,000 stars
as you swing in the sunshine,
reaching for the clouds with your toes.
The wonder in your voice when we discuss
the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus.
Your silent slumber—
that rare moment when
words don’t tumble nonstop
from your lips.
The feel of your arms circling my neck
as you whisper secrets in my ear.
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If I could,
sweet granddaughter of mine,
these things I'd steal from you
and store deep down in my pocket,
yes, deep down in my pocket
with my small change.
Each time
my fingers brushed them,
I’d be reminded once again
that coins are only money,
but these treasures I have gathered
make me rich beyond compare.
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Flammable Candy Canes
THE DUSTING OF SNOW scarcely covered the grass, but Justin had a plan. He rooted through the garage, tossing aside brooms and rakes, until he uncovered his father’s coal shovel—which was taller than he was. Then outdoors he went.
When the door closed behind him, I crept to the dining room window and pulled aside the curtain. There he was, pushing that enormous shovel in laps around the entire yard, slowly gathering miniscule amounts of snow garnished with tufts of grass and clumps of dirt.
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Before long, he opened the front door. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and his eyes glowed with excitement. He said he was nearly finished but needed my help. I zipped up my coat, pulled on my gloves, and stepped outside just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. The cold air stung my cheeks. My breath formed frosty puffs like conversation bubbles in a comic strip.
“Ta-da!” He pointed to a spot in the front yard. In the remaining vestiges of daylight I could barely make out a tiny mound of snow shaped in an inverted ‘V.’ Standing on its peak, like a miniature flag pole, was a red-and-white candy cane.
“Know what it is?” A wide smile stretched across his face.
“Hmm.” I folded my arms across my chest and tapped my chin with my finger while carefully studying the structure. “A fort?”
“No, it’s a ramp!”
“Oh, I see that now," I lied. "But what’s the candy cane for?”
His voice grew solemn as he unveiled his master plan. “First I’m going to wait till more snow falls. Then I’m going to ride my bike up the ramp so fast I’ll light the candy cane on fire!” I nodded appreciatively. “But, right now,” he continued, “I need your help packing the snow.”
Around and around the ramp we stomped. The only sound was the crunch of snow beneath our boots. Justin's eyes were wide in anticipation of the aerial feats he planned to perform. I was trying to keep a straight face.
As the evening stars lit the ink-black sky, Justin stepped back to inspect our work and declared we were finished. I suspected his decision was heavily influenced by the rumbling sounds coming from his empty stomach. But, whatever the reason, we gave each other a high five and congratulated ourselves for a job well done.
Did I tell Justin sugar is not known to be highly combustible? Absolutely not. I'm hoping he'll actually set that candy cane on fire.
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