Hurry and Hide

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BY JOELLEN COLLINS

In a 1950’s suburban elementary school in Southern California, just as the teacher was about to read a story about King Arthur, a voice sounded over the loudspeaker, “This is Principal Sparks. All students and teachers: immediately get away from windows and hide under your desks. Do not move from those spaces until you hear from me.”

Even though it was uncomfortable, the fourth-graders did as expected without fear because they knew this was only a drill: by then they were used to the mandated exercises about what to do if there was an atom bomb exploding nearby. No one really believed that the horrible weapons that resulted in the deaths of about 200,000 Japanese would ever be used in this country. Later, after reading Hiroshima, I had nightmares about seeing my mother’s shadow burned into our front door.

Years later, as a young teacher at Santa Monica High school, I rushed home to my family when the Cuban missile crisis was moving even closer to the possibility of missiles being sent to the USA. We thought we might be saying farewell, but this time, no one died after the threat of a bloody war. Yes, in the schools of my youth there were imagined threats from the world outside our borders, but I don’t remember anyone being afraid to go to school. As I mentioned in a recent column, in our current world we can no longer count on places of safety like schools or religious structures.

My latest reminder of the dangers children face has been shared by too many parents and families. Shortly after I recently returned from visiting my family in San Francisco, I received a text saying that my grandkids’ school was on lockdown, and all children had been ordered to huddle together away from windows in their newly locked classrooms. The rapid release of information now available through cellphones and texts heightened my fear that this incident might be valid, as I heard more mixed messages and floating rumors. People were told that the same lockdowns had just occurred in three other schools in the city. These swiftly sent texts added to my feeling as if right there but also to the frustration in being too far away. I have always hated seeing children hurt or frightened, and I find the many school shootings are unforgivable: my heart was skipping beats and I felt sick to my stomach each time I heard my phone ding.

Luckily, the situation, apparently a huge hoax, ended peacefully. I took several deep breaths, thankful all was “OK.” Nonetheless, one thought overwhelmed: It could have been a horrible ending, where children were lost. I can’t imagine living through that kind of grief. I wish feebly that these events would no longer rob our innocents of a sense of security where it should be.

News photos of ruined baby carriages, bikes, and toys in Ukrainian streets illustrate the undeniable reality of a hateful callousness in a world permitting such misery.