Warning: grown up content and language. I’m getting heavy
with this one.
On December 14, 2012 in a town that essentially was a small
town, a young man walked into an elementary school and shot 20 five-and
six-year-old children and 6 teachers. That day, Lulu was in her first preschool
in Richmond, Virginia, another small town. I’ll never forget the impact of that
day. Ever.
My husband and I were signing the escrow papers on our first
home that afternoon and rather than toast with champagne, we cried. We cried
for the families waiting in the fire station to find out if their children
would be delivered to them. We cried for the families who still stood there as
we signed. The families who would never again see their children. Ever. Their
precious treasures. The babies they made with their own flesh and blood or that
they adopted with all their hearts. The ones they fought for. The little ones
they spent every day working for, educating, loving, cuddling, reading to,
teaching how to brush their teeth and tucking in at night. Those parents
wouldn’t be tucking their children in that night. We were inconsolable and
could not imagine their grief and anger.
Being a parent changes everything.
The world has changed, too. We’ve moved to another small
town, only to have an acquaintance’s daughter assaulted on her own elementary
school campus. To have our niece’s high school shut down for two days due to
bomb threats. To have our almost-five-year-old daughter trained in emergency
drills with a far different meaning than the earthquake drills that scared the
bits out of me when I was a kid.
It’s teacher appreciation week. And, of course, we appreciate you guys
for teaching our kids how to read. To pee in the right place. To get along with
others. But, every day when I hand my precious child off to the teachers of her
school, I silently thank them for keeping her safe. For loving her in my
absence. For caring enough to frame the lockdown drills as standard safety
protocol. Most of all, I thank them for being willing to put their bodies
between my child and an assailant, the way those teachers did in Newtown,
Connecticut that cold day in December.
How do I say thank you for that?
There
is no little teacher’s token big enough to express my gratitude and my emotional
investment in these individuals, although I’m sure I’ll give them some such
token anyway.
To Mia, Leslie, Jessie, Beth, Connie, Gigi, Erin, Lisa, Jody
and Claudia and every person who works in the schools our daughter has
attended, THANK YOU doesn’t say it. And, not to take away from the gravity of
my sentiment here, but I sure wish cake said it. I could do cake!
I’m also thankful for all the teachers who don’t work with
my child. My mom – an amazing 5th/6th grade teacher who
changes lives every day. My cousin Erin who is a no-nonsense, super-sharp
teacher with wings of awesomeness. My friend Ali who found her path almost by
accident, but the teens she basically mentors are so fortunate that she did.
There are more of you than I can mention in a blog post.
I love and thank you all.
xox always,
A.
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