Another School Shooting

I remember I was walking down the hall and Jodi the janitor was sweeping the floor. Jodi was my favorite type of woman. Quick, to the point, a woman who doesn’t mince words. She’d bark at the students in the hall, but saved all the pencils swept up at the end of the day for those who didn’t have any. There were only about 375 students in that whole high school. Everyone knew everyone, whether they wanted to or not. 

I was walking to my class when she removed her headphones and grabbed my arm.
“Hey!” she grunted, “there’s been a shooting.”
“A what?” I replied.
“A shooting, some kid shot up his high school in Colorado!”
I wasn’t sure what to make of this news. I’m sure we bantered for a bit and then went on to my class since Lord of the Flies wasn’t going to teach itself.  What I didn’t realize was how this moment, in that hallway, would become a pivotal moment in my life, one that would happen over, and over and over again.

Fast forward to two days ago, the day before Valentine’s day. I looked down at my phone and read there was an active shooter at Michigan State University, the school I received my Master’s degree from, where I joined the Red Cedar Writing Project. The school where many of my friend’s children call home. At 9:00pm students were running and ducking around campus, hiding in corners, shutting off lights, texting loved ones. An entire campus was frozen in fear as an active shooter went from building to building shooting indiscriminately creating “wrong place at the wrong time” moments. By the end of the horror, three young students lost their lives and a shooter died from a self-inflicted gunshot. A community came together, again, held a vigil, again and every Spartan alumni felt collective grief and despair. Parents hugged their children a little tighter that night while teachers reviewed their active shooter response plans. This is our America now.

What started in 1999 has run rampant across the country with no school too large or small, no child too young or too old, exempt from this new existence. Since Columbine there has been a total of 304 fatal school shootings and counting. We’ve grown accustomed to the routine, the aftermath and the realization that nothing will change. We are a country that loves its guns and freedom more than the lives lost. We would rather debate issues, then solve issues - pray for comfort, then fight for action. 

I texted my own daughter the next day and reminded her when she goes to class, don’t sit by the door. Make sure you know where the exits are. Find places you would run and duck if needed.  By this time, it’s a numbers game and all she can do is try to decrease her odds of being in danger. For the rest of the week the media will debate the shooter, how he got a gun, and his mental stability. Schools will revisit their action plans and teachers will be told they should arm themselves or become human shields. Some students at MSU that night had already survived the Oxford High School shooting of November 2021 and had to relive the nightmare again. My hope is that now that we’ve created a generation of traumatized students, they will grow up to become policy makers and changers. Maybe they can do what we could not. Until then, we will rely on the teachers, the counselors, and the Jodi the janitors of the world to hold us together, push us forward and remind us how beautiful life can be. As Mr Rogers told us, look for the helpers in moments of crisis. And if they aren’t there, we must step up and become them.