I am a teacher.

I am a teacher.

I hope I don’t get shot at school today.

I wonder how many students can hide behind the piano? It is the best barrier in my classroom from AK fire. More will fit if they are kindergartners… kindergartners are so small. I bet I could fit an entire kindergarten class behind the old upright piano. Fifth graders, however. Oh, fifth graders, you are so tall now. There are so many in your class. Which few will get the protection of the piano’s sounding board? What else do I have? A xylophone, a teacher desk, a drum.

“Review lockdown procedures with your students.”

Hide, children.

Hide. Be silent. Pray. Wonder why the adults have put you in this situation. I will protect you with my body, with a fire extinguisher, with… I don’t know what.

What if I had a gun?

I don’t want a gun. I don’t know how to shoot it. I don’t want to learn. I don’t want to know that there is a gun hidden in my desk drawer, next to my attendance book and my lesson plans. I don’t want to take a life.

I am a teacher.

I want to teach my students to sing, to dance, to play instruments.

I don’t want to take a life.

I don’t want to watch my students lose theirs.

I want my students to know that they are safe. Completely safe. I want my students to know that they are loved.

I am a teacher.

I hope we live to see tomorrow.