On the morning of April 20, 1999, I stood inside the Student Union Building at the University of Puget Sound and watched the images on the two TVs with captions blaring “School Shooting in Colorado.”  At first, I wondered what a “school shooting” even meant – back then, this phrase was not a part of our everyday lexicon.  Then I wondered what school it could be.  Finally, it slowly dawned on me that this was my high school, Columbine High School, from which I had graduated only ten months earlier.   Those were my friends, running out of the school with their hands up.  Two days later, I flew to Colorado to be with my community. I attended vigils, memorials and funerals.  I sat with grieving and scared friends. I hugged teachers and neighbors.  

I am now exactly twice as old as I was on that day in 1999.   So for half of my life, I have lived with the idea that schools are not always a safe place to be.  But for fifteen years of my life, I have worked in schools as a teacher, coach, supervisor, mentor and volunteer.  For six years of my life, I have sent my daughters to schools.  I will always be a part of schools and they will always be a part of me.

So what does being a Columbine alum mean for me as a parent?  It means that I send my daughters to school with a blessing every single day.  It means that I have to hold back my fear and tears when there’s a fire alarm when I’m volunteering in my daughter’s preschool class as I imagine what their experience would be like if this were the “real thing.”  It means that my stomach turns when my daughters play “lock down” as part of their imaginary play.   It means that I wonder when they’ll understand that the event they read about in their history books happened at my high school.

And what does being a Columbine alum mean for me as a teacher?   After all, this is a blog about being a teacher, where “policy meets practice.”  One might assume with the ongoing school shootings and the talk about how teachers might play a part in stopping them, that I might have given this some serious reflection, that I would have a detailed plan for what I would do in such an event.  But I don’t.  Honestly, I am way more worried about the immediate and real dangers of poverty, sexism and systemic racism that deeply affect my students’ everyday experiences.

But there is one thing I know as a teacher, one policy that I know will be true if it’s ever the “real thing” at my school.  In loco parentis.   Latin for “in the place of a parent.”   This is the idea that teachers and other responsible adults will act on behalf of the student when the parent is not available. There have been two occasions in my career when my schools had legitimate lockdowns.  My parental instincts kicked in.  I jumped into full mom mode, calming and protecting my kids.   It was only after the events were over and I was by myself that I could fully reflect on and pour out my emotions and fears that had been triggered in those moments.

Every day, I am thankful that I send my daughters to teachers who care for them in my place for the 6 ½ hours that I am away from them.  Every day, I try to love on my students with the fierce love of a parent: I push, challenge, console, support, feed, and advocate for all of my students.   And every day, I hope that the doctrine of in loco parentis is engrained deeply enough that I will know how to act and what to do should the nightmare of April 20, 1999 ever echo in the halls outside of my classroom.