The classroom fell deathly quiet as I quickly moved to the door, the roomful of usually boisterous sixth graders silently shuffling into the corner while I scanned the empty hallway for a moment before locking the door and turning off the lights.
I took a few steps over and crouched down, like the kids, huddled in the dark. Silently waiting.
The minutes dragged on like hours. I made eye contact with a few kids. Instead of a typical smiling response they peered back emotionless.
I turned back to look at the door and lost myself in the reality of this typical school Lockdown Drill. If this were the real deal, what would I do?
I’m already positioned between the students and door, human shield by default.
What happens if that door opens? If this ever really goes down, here’s my opportunity to think about it a bit so my reaction is swift.
Nearly five long minutes crawl by, second by second.
Suddenly the doorknob rattles.
Some kids gasp.
Some jump.
Some freeze.
The door opens and the principal sticks her head into the room.
“Good job,” she says as I exhale and realize I’ve been holding my breath. “You were real quiet. The lights are out. It’s like there isn’t anyone in here.”
She reminds us that in a real situation, we would remain in this state of limbo until first responders open the door and lead us out. We shouldn’t speak nor move for any other reason. Today we should stay put until the announcement comes that the drill is over.
We sit for another 10 minutes, sixth graders unable to keep silent, but at least keeping to very quiet whispers with occasionally giggles. I wonder, in a real situation, how long they could keep silent or if they could. Who would cry. Who would panic.
The announcement comes and they return to their desks, talking again, making noise, not hearing the additional briefing about using furniture to block the door, and if you decide to do that it must be done quickly and quietly.
I get them quieted down and repeat the information, thinking back to the first few minutes when I decided exactly how to stack the tables in this room at the door for maximum protection.
This is my first Lockdown Drill. I began substitute teaching again last spring, and I knew sooner or later I’d experience one. Heck, I seriously took a moment to determine if I really wanted to return to the classroom, it being a much different place than that last time I subbed years ago.
I understand that the odds are higher for me to die on the drive to a school than in the classroom. Tell that to any grieving parent or shell-shocked survivor.
We hear about these drills. Our children come home from school and share their experiences. We say it’s a shame. They lose their innocence.
We remember bomb drills during our own school days, and kind of shrug it off.
Until you hear that sound of silence in the typically lively setting of a classroom, the door lock and the lights go dark …
