"Our school is going into lockdown!"

That was the announcement that came over the intercom two days ago.

Fortunately, it was a drill. Like fire drills and tornado drills, schools are required to practice for lockdowns now. We (the teachers and staff) had known we were going to have one this week, but the closest we could come to pinning down exactly when it would take place was to the day it would be. We could only guess at what time it would be. I had thought it would be near the end of the day. I guessed wrong. It took place in the morning. While I was in my mobile classroom. AKA trailer.

You know what I'm talking about when I say a trailer?

                           

This is my classroom, in case you didn't see it when I first added it to my journal entry back in August. It's old, no bathroom. But it has heating and air conditioning that I can control, and it has a sink for washing hands, and a water fountain. I like my little classroom.

But look at it. Not much protection from tiny flying, wood- and flesh-piercing missiles. I do feel very vulnerable out there when thoughts turn to the possibility of angry, deranged, or otherwise mentally disturbed people carrying weapons on our campus.

Hasn't happened yet. But you read the news. It does happen, in even the nicest of communities, to even the most forgiving of communities. It's the reality we live in today in our country, our land of the free and home of the brave.

So, in anticipation of a lockdown drill, we practiced for the lockdown drill last week ... my second graders were with me at the time. Imagine practicing a lockdown with second graders. They giggle a lot. ....

 I first think about what I should say in the event the kids ask me why we are laying flat on the floor of the classroom. The answer, "Just in case something happens!" is far too vague for the curious and ever questioning minds of 2nd graders. Likewise, the response, "Just in case there is a man/boy standing outside our classroom with an automatic weapon, shooting at us!" seems too blunt and terrifying.

I opt for a middle ground approach. I need to make them understand the importance of being quiet, of laying still on the floor, and of doing exactly as I tell them to do. Immediately! 

I ask them if they know what a lockdown is. I know it is possible that their regular ed teachers have already talked about it with them, and perhaps had even practiced in their classrooms. Young Hispanic Boy says, "I know what a lockdown is! It's when we have to hide in our rooms, and nobody is allowed to come in, and we can't go out, and the teacher locks the door and turns out the lights, and we have to be quiet, and if we are in the hallways when we hear lockdown, we have to go into the classroom we see first and if..."

Young HB would have spoken on and on in one non-stop sentence, as he usually does. He writes that way, too. But he knows what a lockdown is. I tell him he is right. That's what a lockdown is. The teacher has to lock her doors and close the blinds, and everyone has to get on the floor.

I dread asking the next question. If they don't know the answer, then I, like a parent dreading explaining the facts of life to their prepubescent daughter or son, will have to offer some sensible explanation.

But in my mind, there is no sensible explanation to why we live in times when young men think that shooting into a classroom of children is a solution to any of their problems, or any of the world's problems.

"Do you know why we have to practice lockdown?" I ask.

Other Hispanic boy says, with appropriate seriousness and without any animation in his voice or face,  "Because there might be someone outside with a gun shooting at us."

Ah, they've already heard about it then. So I'm not the first person having to explain it after all. The YH Boy becomes very animated. The subject excites him. He raises his hand, "Yeah, they might be shooting us and we might get hit like this," and he fake falls to the floor.

Okay... I ask them where they think would feel safe in my classroom. You see, in this situation it isn't about being safe as much as it is about feeling safe. I can lock the doors, block the windows and lower the blinds. I can put out the green card to let police know we are okay, or red cards to let them know someone is injured. But there is nothing in those four walls that is going to stop a bullet from piercing through the walls and killing or injuring my students or myself. I don't tell them what I'm thinking. There is no need to add fear to their school day.

They look around, closely scrutinizing the hiding places of the classroom. Two closets stand out in their eyes. One points and the other two run to the closet. "We can hide in there," little Girl suggests.

I open the closet door. They step inside, the three of them crowded like crayons in the crayon box. The giggling starts when I close the door. I wait a moment, giving them a few seconds to adjust to the darkness.

The giggling continues. I say "Okay, you kids are laughing too much. We are supposed to be quiet during a lockdown or the person we want to go away will hear us and know we are in here." I pause. They stop giggling for exactly one second, and then it starts again.

I open the door. "What about me? There is no room for me in the closet. Where can I hide?" 

"In the other closet," said the girl. I show them the other closet. No room there for even a little kid.

"No, that won't work either. I can't fit in there!. We need another plan." Then I direct them to come sit on the floor with me, in a small area created by bookshelves and desks, away from windows and doors. We sit there for a few seconds while I plan what I will say. It's time to get serious.

I explain to them how I want them to lay flat on the floor right here where we are sitting. I lay down on the floor to demonstrate, and they copy me. They slide their little bodies beneath the desks, and lay their faces on the carpet. I show them how to hold their hands against the carpet and lay their faces on their hands, and they do it. Then I speak in a very low, almost whisper as I continue. The tone is set and they listen.

YH Boy suggests we practice one more time starting at their desks. "Pretend you are the principal and you tell us to have lockdown."

Good idea. Maybe he's stalling to avoid classwork, but they're listening right now, and they won't forget what we're learning right now. I tell them to return to their desks, and we work a few minutes. I say suddenly, "Boys and girls, we are going into lockdown!"

While I turn to my duties in locking the doors and covering the door windows with velcroed poster board, they scramble for the floor beneath the desks. As I turn off the lights, they are wriggling into their flat positions on the floor. I join them and lay on the floor beside them. They are not giggling. That's my kids. They always come through when you need them to.

Then I think, what if there is shooting, bullets whizzing through the windows or walls, and what if I get shot? Will they know what to do? I don't want to bring it up, but I've heard of four year olds calling 911 for help because their parents taught them what to do if mommy or daddy won't wake up.

As we lay on the floor in my quiet and somewhat darkened room, I speak low again. "Okay you are doing great. This is how I want you to be during the lockdown. Quiet and flat on the floor. But ... what if your teacher falls to the floor while she is locking the doors. What should you do?"

"I know what I would do," says YH Boy. He sits up and explains with gestures. "I would get up and go to the door and..."

I stop him.

"You will lay on the floor right where you are now and you won't get up," I tell him. "I want you to lay on the floor no matter what happens, and you don't get up for anyone."

"But I could call for help," he says.

"And you could get be thenext one killed." I respond. "Listen to me, kids. No matter what happens, you will lay on the floor, and stay there until a policeman unlocks the door. Do you understand?"

They nod. "It probably will never happen." I say lightly. "But if it does, if your teacher in any classroom should fall to the floor during a lockdown, what should you do?"

They answer in unison "Lay on the floor and don't get up."

My job done, I draw them back to their reading lesson. The rest of the day continues, teaching as usual.

Yes, the actual school-wide drill went without a hitch. The second graders weren't in my classroom during the drill after all because it took place just minutes after I had walked them back to their regular classrooms.. It was just myself and the young college student from a local university. So I went through all the motions of lockdown. 

It was as uneventful as we wish all lockdowns to be.