(a re-post from a note posted on Facebook on March 18, 2009)
Many of you probably don’t know what a lockdown is. Some of you have heard of it. Maybe a few of you have practiced one. But at my school, it has become a routine.
Imagine you are a second grader sitting during a math lesson. While you’re trying to figure out how many dimes are in a dollar, you hear a long bell ring. A really long bell. You listen for a moment—it’s not the end or recess or lunch. Your teacher walks to the door, locks it, and then glances out the window. The lesson continues, but your teacher seems a little distracted. You’re in a lockdown.
A lockdown is a procedure by which a school—or other facility—secures its premises for safety reasons. At my school, which is located in the middle of a bubbling gang war, usually it occurs when there has been a shooting nearby. When a situation calls for a lockdown, we corral every human being inside the buildings. We lock the doors, the windows, the gates, and our freedom.
You can’t leave the room to go to the bathroom—that stuff goes in a black bucket, and if you’re lucky, your classroom has a separate workroom where you can conduct that business in private. If you’re not so lucky, maybe you can fashion a little privacy using wooden racks and butcher paper. My little second graders have never complained about using the bucket. They're just grateful.
My kids don’t like lockdowns because they think the air gets stale inside the classroom. I don’t know if that’s true, but it sure feels like it when you’re trapped and you don’t know when you’re going to get out. Also they worry a little. On Monday, one of my more vocal second graders was worried that someone was going to jump the fence and break down our door with a sledgehammer. Imagine what the shy kids were thinking.
If the lockdown starts right before lunch, then it’s really a challenge. Not only are the kids jumpy because they have a lot of energy or have to go to the bathroom, but also they’re hungry on top of that. If you’re looking at Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, their most basic needs are completely shot.
Sometimes you know a lockdown is coming. You hear the helicopters. It’s like Radar O’Reilly saying, “Choppers” and then you know you’re going to be trapped for a while--but not inside an operating room like M*A*S*H. Instead you’re trapped in a classroom with little kids. Your job is to make them feel safe and secure, and keep them calm enough to learn how to read and do their times tables. And really, when there are gun-wavers outside on the street, the safest place to be is inside the classroom.
When the helicopters circle, you wonder when the bell is going to ring. If it’s lunch, or recess, you hurry to the bathroom. If you get trapped inside the classroom later, you never know when you’ll be able to go again. If the lockdown occurs when kids are on the yard, then you open your doors and pull them into your classroom—no matter how many, you take them in to the closest location.
In general I prefer the lockdowns that are preceded by the helicopters, rather than the long bell out of the blue. Why? Well, if you hear the helicopters first, that means that the incident occurred somewhere else, and the police are pursuing the suspects. But...if you just hear the lockdown bell without any warning, that means something has happened very close by. I'll take the helicopters.
One time I was in my classroom after school and I heard gunshots on the street. My classroom is right on the playground, so I opened my door to let kids in to safety. You know what? Not one kid came to my room. They were running--running for cover. They were running around the building out of the shooting range. You never know how those emergency procedures are going to work until you’re in the middle of an emergency.
During a lockdown, you carry on class, business as usual. Everything is okay. Finish the worksheet, read the story--whatever you were doing continues. It's not until you come to a transition where your routine breaks down. Recess time comes and passes. Maybe you miss lunch. When you miss part of your daily routine, then you know that things aren't okay after all. You stay calm, and if kids get nervous, you counter it with hugs and reason. Whatever works. My kids know that when it's dangerous out there, the safest place is in here.
For the record, I want you all to know I have an amazing school. While we teach in the trenches, the staff is amazing, the kids are sincere, and our attitudes are high. I love teaching there and I’m glad to help the kids during this crisis. I just wish it was a little safer for them. I can only imagine what life is like for them when they go home.
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