So I was called in to sub late this morning at our local rural elementary school
I don't have a teaching degree, but I do have a B.A., which enables me to be a substitute at my local rural school (I also grew up with parents who were teachers, so I'm quite familiar with the profession and pedagogy). I've been subbing there, all grades, for a few years now, since we moved here for my husband's job.
The reason I was called in later in the morning was ostensibly due to there being a local funeral that several of the teachers wanted to attend. While this was true, it was obvious that many of them were trying to keep it together and hold it in, for the kids, whom they really treasured. I'm familiar with most of the grades by now, and the children in them (I also know many of them from our community, since it's a small town in a rural area; some I also know from my church). When I was in the classroom of the young children, I looked at them, sitting in their seats and ready to go, fresh-faced, happy from a fun weekend and enjoying reading the story they'd been in the middle of. I saw my own now-grown son, the way he looked when he was that age. I just stood there frozen for a few moments, watching and listening.
Some of the children had their work out and were diligently following along, others were squirming around, some were talking and laughing with each other. One came up to tattle on another kid who "wasn't doing his work right"; another complained about the little boy sitting near her who kept drumming his fingers on his desk, "boddering me." Two were sharing complaints with each other about their siblings at home, how "bossy" one was and how "annoying" another one was. Three were talking with each other about their favorite tv show and how they couldn't wait to see it again, wondering aloud what would happen next time. Another was talking about what she was gonna get for Christmas and how they decorated the tree this past Saturday and she got to put the angel on top of it.
Their artwork and A papers were proudly posted all over the walls in the room; a couple of them happily pointed out to me those that had been posted since the last time I'd subbed for them in Sept. I found myself taking note of all of the large cabinets and closets throughout the room, cabinets and closets that had, in other rooms in another elementary school seven states away to the east, had been used by heroic teachers to stash and stow and shield their students, among all of the piles of art and school supplies and books, before those teachers themselves actually faced yet another madman with guns, a few giving up their lives in the process. I found myself quickly thinking of what to do and how to do it should the unthinkable, but increasingly likely (unfortunately), suddenly happen here. How quickly could these fifteen children be hidden there and how to keep them calm?
Because, see, those are the first thoughts of the vast majority of teachers, including my parents before they retired. How to shield, protect and save their students. Putting the children first, not themselves. Even if it means directly confronting gunmen while keeping your kids safe and hidden, and even if it means being gunned down yourself while those same young children are waiting terrified inside the closets and cabinets, safe to live their lives because of your sacrifice. Showing far more courage in doing so than the cowardly, pandering politicians who cower and grovel before the gun lobby, the same politicians who've been gleefully slashing rights, benefits and salaries of teachers while trashing, bashing, demonizing and scapegoating them, deriding them as overpaid, incompetent, lazy, "public leeches", and inciting society to do the same.
The children were happy, innocently sitting at their desks and eager to go about their lives, looking forward to the movie they were going to see in another classroom this afternoon. Children who just wanted to be safe, happy and free. Children who had no idea that there were people out there, far too many people, people in charge and powerful, who were more concerned with the rights and money of gun owners and gun lobbyists, and furthering their own careers of power, than with their rights, and the rights of their families and fellow citizens, to be safe, to be able to do something as simple as GROW UP.
Children who had no idea that these people, who were, unfortunately, far too numerous, considered their lives and the lives of their families and fellow Americans, to be expendable and collateral damage, considered their lives to be a fair price to pay for their "freedom" to have their metal phallic symbols of destruction, as much as they wanted and whenever, however and wherever they wanted. Who actually believed that the answer to the violence plaguing their fellow children and citizens was MORE OF THE SAME instruments of violence and death.
I felt a tug on my sleeve and looked down. "Mrs. ___________. Can we take turns reading the story now? We like to do the different voices."
FUCK. 
= new reply since forum marked as read
beautiful and sad at the same time. 
and eloquent. 
Thank you so much for writing this. Wish I could do more.
Hekate
