One might describe my school and the neighboring homes as idyllic.
The homes are beautiful, well-manicured, many of them reflecting Southern
architecture from a bygone era. There are fountains, small ponds and water
features, blooming flowers in spring and summer, and a stately community
clubhouse. Many of our students live in the neighborhood, and they walk or bike
to school. Others, from this neighborhood and an equally lovely set of
neighboring subdivisions, take a short bus ride to school. The area is safe,
beautiful, and quiet. It is located in a small, Tennessee
town, which boasts a rich history of Civil War battles, farming, Grammy-winning
artists shopping alongside you at the grocery store, beautiful churches, rolling hills, and small town values.
My second graders came to school on February 6 talking about
how quickly the week had gone by; I remember thinking that I didn't feel the
same way. We had had a tiny chance of snow the day before, and if you know teachers,
snow days are as precious as gold! Still, we went about our morning routines of
washing hands, greetings, beginning morning warm-up work, and taking roll.
A couple of hours later, we were finished with math and
writing lessons. We were just about to begin a new lesson, when our principal
announced, in a pleasant and calm, but do-it-right-this-minute
voice, that all teachers and staff members should read their email. The email
said that we had ten minutes to evacuate the building. That we weren't in any
immediate danger. Bring class rosters and emergency contact information. She
told us where we would be going once we were on the buses, and that she’d have
more info for us later. She stressed getting our children ready to go and
keeping them calm.
Few, if any, teachers knew why we were evacuating. It didn't
matter. What mattered was that we reassured our children, got them out as
quickly as possible, and kept them SAFE. I was curious as to why we were
evacuating, and bomb threat was my first suspicion, but I couldn't fathom why
anyone would want to target our wonderful school.
I have to go on a bit of a tangent at this point. “I have a
connection,” as my students would say. When I was in first grade, way back in
1967, the assistant principal came to our classroom door, stuck his head in,
and told my teacher, Mrs. Opal Long, “We need you to take your students
outside. We have a problem in the boiler room.” I can still remember how Mr.
Ellis Searcy’s voice sounded. How his eyes seemed to be communicating much more
than the words he said.
It was brutally cold that day in late November. We were told
to get our coats. I remember being disappointed that I couldn't get my book
satchel (precursor to the backpack for you young’uns), which was relatively
new. I loved that book satchel!
I also remember walking out of the building through a haze
of smoke. The building, built in 1927, was on fire. It had started in the boiler
room. Of course, the building was constructed mostly of wood, so it was ripe
for burning. I remember wooden floors that were cleaned and shined with an oil
product, which was even more of an accelerant for a fire. We walked out and stood
outside in the cold. I don't remember seeing flames, and thankfully, no one in
this school of grades 1-12 was injured.
My mother sometimes tells her side of the story when we talk
about the fire. She talks about her terror of hearing that the school was on
fire from my great aunt, who lived near us. We lived 8 miles from the school. At the time, we
had one car, and my pop had driven it to work. My great aunt drove my mother to
the school. My mother recalls thinking that my great aunt was driving so slowly. She could see the black smoke from several miles out as they drove. I don’t have children of my own, but when I hear my mother talk about
her terror, I suspect that it is similar to that which my students’ parents felt
yesterday.
If you're an educator, you know that field trips are all
about fun for the children. No, this wasn't a field trip, but we were getting
on buses, and it was during the school day, so as far as the children were
concerned, it was kind of like a
field trip. For teachers on field trips, it’s all about making sure you don’t
leave anyone behind, that everyone has their coat, and that you, the teacher,
has the GO Bag (tissues, wipes, small first aid kit, etc.). I noticed that one
of my brilliant coworkers had suggested that her students bring a book. I
immediately, and with no shame at all, stole her idea. What better way to keep
students occupied than to have them grab a book to read while we’re driving and
waiting!
So, with kids, books, important contact information, and GO
bag in hand, we lined up and made our way downstairs to the lines waiting to
board the buses. The entryway of our school was filled with lines of children
and adults. I remember seeing our early childhood classes, along with their
teachers and teacher’s assistants, beside us. Some early childhood teachers and
assistants were carrying special needs children who needed assistance with
walking. Others had our youngest students by the hand, leading them to
buses. I remember pointing to my eyes with two fingers, indicating to my students to keep their
eyes on me.
The office staff, special area teachers and teachers’
assistants were guiding classes into lines to go outside. Our two assistant principals were
outside directing classes onto buses with the help of bus drivers who were gauging
how many more children could fit onto the bus. I don't remember seeing our
principal, but I know she was at the helm of organizing our evacuation.
Our fabulous leaders were calm and swift with their
guidance. As soon as one bus was filled, it would zip out of the parking lot.
People, it was like our children and the staff had been through evacuation
drills dozens of times! There was no chaos, no confusion, just lines of
children led by their teachers, waiting to board a bus. After it was over, our
principal would tell us that law enforcement officers would comment that our
evacuation was the best they had ever seen. By the way, it took us 16 minutes
to get 600+ children and staff out of the building. Amazing!
As we drove a few miles away, to the parking lot of a
church, my coworkers and I whispered our questions (out of earshot of the
children): Is this a drill? How did they get all of those buses to our school so
quickly? (We later counted the buses. We think there were eleven.) Do you think it’s a bomb threat? WHAT is going on?
We were checking social media for any word of what was
happening. There was nothing. The children were chatting, some were reading,
but they were all in good spirits. A few asked what was happening, and we told
them that “they” were just making sure that our school was safe. We were vague
on purpose, and at that time, we really didn’t know why we were evacuated.
I should mention that I counted my nineteen students getting
on the bus, and once we were on there, I counted again. I had nineteen precious
children in my care. Normally, it would have been twenty-one, but I had two
children absent. I probably counted and recounted a dozen times while we were
out of the building.
A student’s mother, who is also a coworker, was with us on
the bus. As a parent of a student, she received a call from the district communications
director, who explained the situation. An internet threat had been made; it
mentioned blowing up a school in our neighborhood. That’s how we learned what was happening – from our central
office. They were on the ball. Our district does a terrific job of keeping
parents informed. The local police department tweeted that our school had been
evacuated shortly after the phone call to parents. Several parents came to our
location to check out their children. We would see later, that many, many more
would be waiting for us at school to check out their children.
For the past few years, I have told my students’ parents at
open house, that I will be their children’s mama bear while they are at school.
I explain that if they need fussing on, I’ll fuss on them. If they are sick, I'll
make sure to check on them or send them to the nurse. If they need extra help,
they'll get it. I tell them this to let them know that I take my responsibility
of caring for and teaching their children very seriously. I mean it. I love my
students. We are a school family, and I tell them that I am their school mama.
I mean it.
Yesterday afternoon, after all had been resolved, I had an
email from a parent who referred to my open house comment about being her child’s
mama bear. She said that she remembered it yesterday, and it gave her comfort.
It made me proud and gave me goosebumps – proud to be a teacher – to know that I’m not crazy for
counting and recounting to make sure that I have all my little chicks with me,
to know that teaching and learning are important, but the relationships that I
develop with my children and their families are equally important. It made me
proud to work with all of my
coworkers. Do you want to know why? It’s because I know that they do the same
thing for their students. I saw it in my coworkers yesterday. They were mama
bears or papa bears, too. It’s our job. It’s what we do, IN ADDITION to and IN
CONJUNCTION with teaching. It’s one of the many hats we wear.
We were only out of our building for about an hour. Law
enforcement checked our building, and everything was found to be safe.
According to news media, it was a hoax. An alleged
threat was posted on social media saying that the school was going to be
blown up. Our specific school wasn't mentioned, but the neighborhood was. We
were evacuated in an abundance of caution.
When we returned to school, parents were lining both sides
of the walkway. I could see their eyes scanning the lines of classes for their
child, a smile forming, along with a sigh of relief, when their child was
spotted. Central office leaders and law
enforcement officers were present, at the church lot where we waited, and at
our school. Our director of schools was at school to welcome us back and to
answer any questions parents might have.
It took a long time, once I got home, for me to calm down. I
kept thinking of the huge responsibility of teaching. Yes, there are lesson
plans, occasional naughty boys or girls, data reviews, assessments, and growth
targets, but the duty of teaching is much
greater. I thought about the twenty-one lives that I am responsible for teaching and
keeping safe each and every day of
school. I am thankful that everything turned out well.
The profession of teaching is often criticized for this or
that, but when a potentially harmful situation arises, I believe that all in
our profession would “mama or papa bear up” and guard their students. You've
seen those signs and bumper stickers that read, “If you can read this, thank a
teacher.” Well, if you have read this, you can thank a teacher, but know that
whether you do or not, this teacher (and her coworkers) knows the precious
value of your children.
I teach. What's your super power?
