Read on Twitter
When government made it clear they weren't invested in keeping weapons away from men intent on murdering kids and teachers, we had to devise ways of hiding or sneaking away to safety if such a man arrived on campus.
My Preschool had "Dragon Drills" - attempting to mitigate trauma by substituting a fantastical threat for a real one. "If a dragon came to our school," we asked our three, four and five year olds, "what should we do?" "Hide", they said. "Run away."
When a drill ended we'd praise them for practicing their escape from a would-be murderer. "You were so quiet. A dragon would not find us." "Thank you for listening and following quickly. You are faster than a dragon."
How can I bring kids back to a school now that the dragon is real? Now that it moves invisibly in the air? Now that there's no hiding from it? In a state where 1 in 4 tests are positive and hospitals are completely full, there is in a very real sense no escape. No running away.
Kim Byrd (RIP) was not teaching in a crowded room. The dragon found her. She and her colleagues wore masks. The dragon found them. She cleaned their space to kill the dragon. It killed her instead.
Clearly, I'm scared. Of returning to a far-from-normal where I'm reminding myself of the odds every second. Of inviting young children into a situation I know isn't safe. Of losing my job if I don't. Of losing my life if I do.
And under the fear is still anger. Anger that it falls again to teachers and parents to protect children and ourselves against dragons emboldened by inefficient leaders. Anger at my own helplessness.
