Teacher’s Perspective: The Days that Follow a School Shooting

By Christine Meglino

Jun 6, 2022

The day after:

Just like any other day, I walk into my classroom and check the door knob to make sure that it locks from the outside. But today feels different. Today, as I check the door knob, I catch my hand trembling as I think about the innocent lives that were lost in Uvalde. I scan the room re-evaluating the spot where I have the kids hide during our lockdown drills. Is that the safest corner? What furniture can I move to block the door from opening? As I'm thinking of my lock-down plan, I picture the kids at Robb Elementary School huddled in the corner of their classrooms and for a second, I stop breathing.

My students walk in and I make an effort to really notice them today. To really see them. I’m absorbed in their presence and don’t let any phone use, late entry, or attitude bother me. They are here. They are alive. I am grateful.

I do my best to smile through class, to show I care, to make them feel loved. I tell my seniors that they are the future, and that I have hope that they will change this destructive world we live in. They listen, some with tears in their eyes, others with apparent discomfort-- but it doesn’t matter. They need to hear that I see the good in them, and that we have to strive to be better than what our country has become.

When I’m not in class I feel like a zombie. I know my colleagues do too. There is an emptiness we are all feeling, a silence weighing us down, but oddly connecting us in a way only educators can understand. No one wants to come to work in fear. No one. And the fear, for me at least, isn’t that I’ll be a victim, it’s that my students will. Will I make the right call to save their lives? Will I be able to comfort them?

Two days after the shooting:

I’m consumed with anger. I continue to lock the door of my classroom each period. As I do, I think about the politicians in Washington: those that I follow on instagram, those that speak so passionately on TV, those I voted for in the last election. Every day I show up to school and I do my job. I use every ounce of energy I have to make a difference. I teach my students to voice their opinions and to listen to the opinions of others. I’m shorter than every student I have, yet I’m able to get teenagers of a variety of backgrounds to come together and listen to one another. How is it, that politicians can’t come together and pass legislation that will, in some way, prevent school shootings? Why isn’t this a priority? Stop fighting. Stop polarizing our country. Do your job. My students have the right to come to school feeling safe. Stop worrying so much about your image- your approval ratings, your midterm elections, your “talking points” (because that’s all they are, “talking points”) and start caring for others. Maybe if you possessed some of the empathy teachers carry will them on a daily basis, you’d be able to make a difference.

Three days after the shooting:

Silence. The news continues to cover the tragedy, but no one is talking about it in school anymore. As a teacher, I know I have to carry on, but it’s hard to figure out how. There are classes to teach, state tests to prepare for, but the exhaustion is overwhelming. I feel defeated, lacking faith in our government to assist in keeping us safe. This week teachers showed up to school to support our children despite this feeling of defeat, but we must remember that we showed up because we were able to. Those teachers and students in Uvalde who lost their lives couldn’t show up. It’s not fair. Their faces will forever be etched in my mind, serving a reminder of what education in America has become.

A week later

I’m still locking my classroom door. I’m still losing sleep. My heart rate jumps with every instance of shouting in the hallway. Every time announcement that comes on over the loudspeaker, I grab my keys, expecting the worst. I’m still thinking about how someone who wanted to teach English is being asked if she’d ever carry a gun in the workplace. More than anything else, I am thinking of the students and teachers in Robb Elementary School. I’m thinking of their bravery and of their families who will never be the same. An 18 year old with a gun took so much from one community.

The only difference between this week and last week is that I’m trying to morph my cynicism into activism. I’m trying to research ways to fight back, to speak up and to make change. Perhaps that is what I’ll commit to on my summer “off”. When I’m not planning for next year or taking professional development classes, I’ll look for ways to promote school safety, to make gun access more restrictive, to make my students more safe. I’m just a teacher, another one of America's favorite scapegoats, who, despite the exhaustion, can’t help but attempt to make the world a better place.