Most Sundays, for as long as I can remember, my family has gathered to barbecue and eat. So it’s funny to me that my favorite holiday is one in which my family gathers to eat a feast only slightly larger than the one we prepare on most weekends. There’s something different about Thanksgiving though; for me, it’s also a reflective day.
I reflect upon how much the kids have grown, how much weight I’ve gained, how much I miss those who have passed, how much more of our house remodel we’ve completed, how much weight other people have gained, and mostly, how much things have changed in the last year and every year prior.
This year, some of those reflections came early.
As everyone prepared for Thanksgiving break, students at Ernest Righetti High School got a jump on their vacation when administrators closed school early amid rumors of more violence just two days after several fights erupted on campus. When I commented about the scary state of events at the school, my 6-year-old son shook his head and said, “Not so much.”
“At least this time we didn’t have to do all the stuff we always do with a lockdown,” he said.
This surprised me and opened the door for a lot of questions from me. His elementary school was locked down, too, during the event? How long? Why didn’t the school say anything? What happens in a full lockdown then?
The answer to the last question moved me. He told me that this time, they only locked the doors. Other times they turn off the lights, shut the windows, and hide. He recalled that in kindergarten his teacher urgently called the class inside because “danger was near.” They hid, and he remembered feeling scared and someone saying: “I’m too young to be killed to death.”
His story left me speechless.
I was at Righetti High School when law enforcement converged on the school by car, foot and by air. Not to question the judgment of those trained in a field in which I’m not, but after learning some of the details, I wondered: Was it overkill or were there details that just weren’t made public?
One parent commented that it made parents like her feel good about the safety of their children. I tend to agree. Still, the fact that lockdowns and law enforcement response to emergencies at school is a normal part of student life makes me sad.
My kids have been in several lockdowns this year alone. On a normal day, parents have to drop their little kids off behind a gate and wave at them from the other side as they walk to their class. Bathrooms are locked while class is in session. And I realized my youngest has never known school to be anything other than this.
I told him things used to be different.
“You mean you’ve never had a lockdown, not even in kinder? Not even in first grade?” Sebastian asked.
Nope.
When he got over his surprise, his sarcasm came back. “Well I’m sorry, I can’t just time travel or go to school in another time. It’s not like I can open up a portal and travel in time and go to your school where they don’t have lockdowns,” he said dramatically.
“I’m the one who’s sorry you can’t do that,” I told him.
Not too long ago, school was a fun place that offered a few hours of independence from your family. You had your friends and your schedule and your own carefully crafted personality that often was very different than who you were at home. When I was my kids’ age I walked to school and back home and then played outside until the street lights came on, and sometimes long after.
These days, I walk my youngest to school and stand behind the fence watching until he enters class. My older boys have phones, not because they wanted them but because we want them to be able to touch base every hour with updates on the status of their well-being.
Helicopter parenting? Probably. But in a world where my 6-year-old is familiar with lockdown protocol, I feel like maybe it’s a little justified.
But what am I saying? It’s Thanksgiving and this is supposed to be a humor column. So I’ll have a slice of pie, and you do the same. Then I’ll have a glass of wine and torture my children with legends of class holiday parties where we ate copious amounts of homemade of baked goods with real sugar and topped with dyed (not white) frosting. Of playing on sports teams and not getting a trophy. Of playing baseball in the street after dark, somewhere in the neighborhood, without a cellphone in my pocket. And of a day when children were blissfully unaware that danger lurks in the world.
Shelly Cone’s going to stuff her face and think about how great her childhood was. Contact her through the Sun’s executive editor at rmiller@newtimesslo.com
This article appears in Nov 26 – Dec 3, 2014.