On not talking to my kids about Uvalde
...what do you do when your country is waging a war on kids?
I didn’t want to talk to my kids about the shootings in Uvalde. I didn’t want to tell them about 19 kids being murdered. About their teachers standing in front of their tiny bodies, sacrificing their own lives to protect their students. About courage. About the cops who waited outside, rescued their own kids, and did nothing to save the other kids. About the gunman being inside for 40-60 minutes as the police stayed outside and forbade parents from going in to help. About cowardice. About the legions of Republican politicians who systemically weaken gun laws every time another one of these happen, and the legions of Republican voters who keep voting for them even though they’re at war with our kids. About evil. About the fact that we allow civilians to buy Kevlar armor so that they are almost invincible when they go to kill our kids. About the fact that the gun that this man was legally allowed to purchase punched orange-sized bullet holes in these kids, so they were only able to be identified by their shoes, and their parents needed to give DNA to claim their bodies. About insanity. About how one of the dads found out his daughter was dead as he gave medical assistance to her best friend. About how these kids had two days left before summer vacation, and had an honor roll assembly that morning. About tragedy.
And I didn’t want to talk to them about how I never taught a class without wondering what I would do if it happened to me, without wondering how I could keep students safe in the classrooms I taught in, if I’d be brave enough to stand up to a gunman in my class. About how there were boys, always boys, who I would always meet with the door open, never closed, who would confront me about a test grade or a perceived slight from another student, and I would wonder if this was the one who might show up with a gun. About how I don’t know a teacher who doesn’t have that in the back of their minds.
And I didn’t want to tell them about how I’ve started standing on the sidewalk until they disappear into their buildings, waiting to get the last glance of them, hoping it’s not the final time I see them. About how I was editing a paper this week about what causes people to migrate from Guatemala, and there was a quote from a mom about wanting to protect her kids from gun violence, and I thought “me too.”