This is going to be a very different discussion.
I could sit here and talk about the amazing projects and writings I'm doing in the classroom. I could write about the inspirational, emotional conversations I've shared with students in the last few weeks. I could gush over the surge in school spirit and pride our high school has experienced in the last several months. I could moan about our devastating football loss to our biggest rival but that our student section was ranked the best in the state (...okay, I can give that shameless little plug). I could blog about a lot of good things right now.
Instead, I'm going to talk about one of the most difficult things to bring up in the world of education right now.
School shootings.
Without getting too political, I feel as though our president delivered a very powerful and realistic speech on the matter of school shootings earlier last month in lieu of the Oregon shooting (see the second of two links at the end of this post). One terrifying and crippling fact is that school shootings in America have become "routine." This is a topic that we have become accustomed to. It is--in my opinion--one of the most traumatizing and terrifying things that could happen... and we are completely used to it.
Let that sink in for a second.
Are we truly surprised anymore when we see a news story about "another school shooting"?
I think that hurts the most.
Schools are supposed to be safe environments that we send our children to on a daily basis. Schools should be a comfortable environment for students to grow, learn and dream through. Schools are supposed to be protective environments in which students can walk into every day without feeling worried. And yet, we continue to hear these stories every so often--too often--where that safety and security is ripped from our hands.
I don't mean to be so hard and cold on this. But the fact is: our country is hit with school shootings too often. And I have to agree that not enough has been done to fix this.
And that is where ALICE comes in.
Last year, our school district started the process of adopting a new program for handling intruders on the premise. Thankfully, this program has been adopted and we are now in the process of having every staff member trained for it. The program is called ALICE.
ALICE is an acronym: Alert, Lockdown, Inform, Counter, Evacuate. Each word is meant to give an individual a strategy in the instance of a hostile intruder. When you consider the acronym, it makes sense: you can send out an alert about the situation; you can lock down; you can inform the outside of the situation; you can counter the intruder; you can evacuate the school.
Traditionally, schools have focused on simply implementing the L: lockdown. Which, in many cases, is incredibly effective. Teachers will close and lock their doors, pull the blinds and corral the students as far from the windows and doors as possible in order to not draw attention to themselves. It has worked before.
It has also led to avoidable deaths.
I struggle bringing up the infamous story of Columbine because we ultimately want to move beyond this tragedy. The fact remains: students locked down, tried to hide, and were still murdered. In this case... the lockdown led to death.
So people put their heads together and started to create and eventually execute the ALICE program. The ultimate idea is to understand that you have options when an intruder enters the building. We don't have to just lockdown anymore. We can alert. We can inform. We can counter. And we can evacuate. It all depends on the situation we are faced with.
It's about giving us the power and taking it from the intruder.
Earlier this year, our school underwent video and informational training. We were given facts and statistics about school shootings, learned and took notes over the ALICE acronym and discussed how we could integrate these procedures into our schools. It was empowering, exciting and invigorating to know that we teachers had more options to consider in order to ensure the safety of our students. I felt powerful and I felt unstoppable considering how I would act if a situation like this ever occurred. It was an excellent experience. My fellow staff members and I were pleased that our administration decided to adopt this groundbreaking new plan.
...the truth is, note-taking and talk will only take you so far. Sometimes you have to experience firsthand what reality can throw at you.
This Thursday, my husband and I had a two hour "practical" of ALICE training. Along with 40+ other district staff, we drove three miles out of town to one of the elementary schools. We were given a brief presentation form our curriculum director, SROs from the high school, and chief police officer of our city about ALICE. We were informed that we were going to go through 3-4 scenarios that would put us in the heart of ALICE because the best thing a person can do is practice and commit practice to memory in times of crisis.
We were handed masks and protective goggles.
We were led into two classrooms.
And we were told that, in the first scenario, all we could do was lockdown.
So we sat at desks and chatted. The alarm went off. We closed the doors, turned off the lights and huddled in the corner.
A "shooter" burst into our room and shot all of us with an air soft gun.
My husband was shot three times in front of me. I avoided being shot because he blocked me and I played dead.
90% of the 40+ teachers were "killed" in just over two minutes.
Our leaders brought us back into the communal classroom and we debriefed. We could all agree that this was an incredibly sobering and difficult experience. Some of us giggled nervously but most of us were angry. Several teachers expressed that they felt completely helpless and frustrated that they couldn't do more. Most of our gut reactions were to do more: run, hide even further, scream or fight back. We discussed the issues of training our students to cower and wait and what we would have done instead. Our leaders encouraged us. They emphasized with our distress. We deserved the chance to take back some power.
So they sent us back into our classrooms with our second scenario: we could evacuate.
Once more, we sat at our desks, trying to mime meetings. In my case, I was trying to keep my hands from shaking and force myself to act like it was just another day (because, let's be real: no one ever knows when a crisis will happen).
We heard screaming down the hallway.
Almost as one, our group leaped up and raced towards the door. Those in front looked back and forth and shouted that we were clear.
As a herd, we tore down the hallways. I remember covering my head.
We found the back door and ran into the playground. We saw others appear in other fields.
What felt like a year later, our leaders called us back in.
During our debrief, we found out three things: first, the body count was only a handful. Second, the whole scenario lasted under a minute. Third, the "shooter" told us she was incredibly confused and didn't know where to shoot when we burst through the doors and barreled out. She had experience shooting a weapon before and said she couldn't focus with all of us running. Were there a few "casualties"? Yes. But we were on the path to taking back the power from the intruder. Evacuation can be a life saver. Can it work in every instance? Not necessarily. But if the opportunity presents itself: it can save lives and confuse a shooter who is used to people hiding and waiting.
For a third time, we were sent back to our classrooms. This time, we were given props: ping pong balls. We were given our task: Counter.
Yet again, we sat in our desks and waited. We pretended to have meetings. I jumped anytime I saw someone by the door. I squeezed my ping pong balls like stress balls.
Without warning our door opened and a "shotgun" poked through.
To my left, a teacher screamed.
And suddenly, the air was filled with screaming, movement and flying ping pong balls.
I remember diving out of the line of fire (as my seat was facing the door) and scrambling behind a chair. I remember cowering behind that chair but chucking ping pong balls at the "shooter" as hard as I could. I know I hit her shoulder before crawling out of the way for a better vantage point.
Blessedly, our leader called a stop after only 40 seconds and we went back into the communal room for debriefing.
We chose to hear from our "shooter" first. She described how she was completely and literally blind-sided and had no idea where to aim. She did her best to follow her instructions (which was to keep shooting) but kept flinching and covering her eyes as a barrage of ping pong balls flew at her and voices screamed in her ears. The body count? Not even a handful. We discussed how these ping pong balls could represent items in our classrooms. Staplers. Tape dispensers. Chairs. Desks. 30+ Literature text books (in my case). Literally anything. We considered what we had been training out students for years--hiding and waiting--and what we could instead use in our classroom to distract and fight back. Shooters expect us to hide and wait; with the element of distraction and countering, they will flee our rooms and seek another. The fact is: fighting back can be more effective than just waiting. My mind raced as I pictured every item that could be thrown or used to barricade our door. Our classrooms are limitless arsenals if the time calls for it. And that was the first time Thursday night that I started to feel power.
We weren't done yet.
We were sent back to our rooms with ping pong balls and one direction: get to safety. There was no definition or description of what that looked like. Translation? Use what you have learned.
One final time, we sat at our desks and waited. We mimed discussions. I squeezed ping pong balls and looked weepily at my husband. This was taxing and emotional and I just wanted to be done.
And then we heard it. Not an alarm. Not a scream. Not a door open.
A gunshot.
The room paused. Then the majority rushed to the door. Some left. Others hesitated and screamed. We heard the air soft gun shoot. I dove behind a desk and prepared to throw.
I watched my husband at the door lunge out and run at something.
A lifetime later, I heard the call for stop.
The simulation lasted 11 seconds. It was stopped because my husband and one other bum-rushed the barrel of a gun pointing into the room.
My husband would later explain that he acted in the moment and explained that there was no way he could let that gunman get into the room.
As we left the room, we smelled the acrid, sulfuric stench of a gun. I've never smelled it before but won't forget it. We met one final time and debriefed the situation. We were blown away that the simulation lasted only 11 seconds. We discussed how the situation became real when we heard the blank shot instead of waiting for an alarm or screams. They did it on purpose so that we could hear it... and it invoked our most base instincts for survival. The other room managed to close the door and make enough ruckus to dissuade the shooter. When he came for our room, those that tried to escape were shot. A few realized the situation and decided to counter. This forced the gunman to stumble and run back while attempting to shoot. But the fact is: our leader had to force us to stop because two of our teachers (including my husband) lunged and swarmed the shooter to get him to stop.
We applauded each other and rubbed the sore spots from the airsoft gun (overall, I managed to avoid getting shot; my husband was shot in three of the four scenarios). We got into our cars and left.
I could barely think the rest of the night.
The truth is: this was the most empowering, informative and worthwhile professional development I have ever experienced. I can only hope that I will NEVER need to use what I learned from the ALICE practical.
But in the emotional turmoil, tears and twists (twist: I was originally "volun-told" to be the first "shooter." Our SRO took one look at my face, asked if I could really do it and promptly found someone else. There is no way I could have walked into a room and faked shooting people--one of which was my husband) I did walk away feeling powerful and feeling knowledgeable. We live in a world where the lockdown is no longer the best response. We live in a world where we have the absolute right to fight back and run for our lives. We live in a world where we have the right to take back power from an intruder. Intruders don't think we are at this point yet; they expect us to hide and wait. But with this knowledge? We absolutely can take back the power and safety in our schools. Teachers and students.
There are stories we don't hear on the news of teachers and students countering and evacuating. We tend to only hear the tragic. But there are people who have stood up and taken back the power. And with any luck... the nation will change their mind and implement all aspects of ALICE to give us the power.
I have honestly never felt more terrified, numb, moved and powerful in a staff meeting. I shed tears yesterday, shook uncontrollably, felt nothing and threw ping pong balls with as much power as I could. I watched my husband die twice. I watched others around me die and surge forward to fight back.
If there was ever an indelible moment in life, this was it.
I get to the end of writing this and feel emotionally exhausted. I struggle to find words with what else I can truly say. We practiced something almost everyone is terrified of. I walked away feeling empty and not knowing how to reach out to anyone.
But I walked away with full confidence that, if a situation like this were to ever arise in my classroom, my students would be safe. And I will show them how to be safe.
Teachers never signed on to be body-guards. But deep down: we are.
This was a long and emotional post. I had to walk away from it several times. I apologize if it hit any of you hard. But at the very least, I hope it starts a conversation.
ALICE training isn't just for the school; it is for any and all businesses. For more information, please follow the link below. I recommend any business--school, corporate, retail, etc--consider bringing someone in to go through ALICE training.
http://www.alicetraining.com/
Here is a link to President Obama's speech on the Oregon shootings. Again: I don't like bringing politics into any conversation. But his anger speaks to me.
http://www.cnn.com/2015/10/01/politics/oregon-shooting-obama-response/
I could sit here and talk about the amazing projects and writings I'm doing in the classroom. I could write about the inspirational, emotional conversations I've shared with students in the last few weeks. I could gush over the surge in school spirit and pride our high school has experienced in the last several months. I could moan about our devastating football loss to our biggest rival but that our student section was ranked the best in the state (...okay, I can give that shameless little plug). I could blog about a lot of good things right now.
Instead, I'm going to talk about one of the most difficult things to bring up in the world of education right now.
School shootings.
Without getting too political, I feel as though our president delivered a very powerful and realistic speech on the matter of school shootings earlier last month in lieu of the Oregon shooting (see the second of two links at the end of this post). One terrifying and crippling fact is that school shootings in America have become "routine." This is a topic that we have become accustomed to. It is--in my opinion--one of the most traumatizing and terrifying things that could happen... and we are completely used to it.
Let that sink in for a second.
Are we truly surprised anymore when we see a news story about "another school shooting"?
I think that hurts the most.
Schools are supposed to be safe environments that we send our children to on a daily basis. Schools should be a comfortable environment for students to grow, learn and dream through. Schools are supposed to be protective environments in which students can walk into every day without feeling worried. And yet, we continue to hear these stories every so often--too often--where that safety and security is ripped from our hands.
I don't mean to be so hard and cold on this. But the fact is: our country is hit with school shootings too often. And I have to agree that not enough has been done to fix this.
And that is where ALICE comes in.
Last year, our school district started the process of adopting a new program for handling intruders on the premise. Thankfully, this program has been adopted and we are now in the process of having every staff member trained for it. The program is called ALICE.
ALICE is an acronym: Alert, Lockdown, Inform, Counter, Evacuate. Each word is meant to give an individual a strategy in the instance of a hostile intruder. When you consider the acronym, it makes sense: you can send out an alert about the situation; you can lock down; you can inform the outside of the situation; you can counter the intruder; you can evacuate the school.
Traditionally, schools have focused on simply implementing the L: lockdown. Which, in many cases, is incredibly effective. Teachers will close and lock their doors, pull the blinds and corral the students as far from the windows and doors as possible in order to not draw attention to themselves. It has worked before.
It has also led to avoidable deaths.
I struggle bringing up the infamous story of Columbine because we ultimately want to move beyond this tragedy. The fact remains: students locked down, tried to hide, and were still murdered. In this case... the lockdown led to death.
So people put their heads together and started to create and eventually execute the ALICE program. The ultimate idea is to understand that you have options when an intruder enters the building. We don't have to just lockdown anymore. We can alert. We can inform. We can counter. And we can evacuate. It all depends on the situation we are faced with.
It's about giving us the power and taking it from the intruder.
Earlier this year, our school underwent video and informational training. We were given facts and statistics about school shootings, learned and took notes over the ALICE acronym and discussed how we could integrate these procedures into our schools. It was empowering, exciting and invigorating to know that we teachers had more options to consider in order to ensure the safety of our students. I felt powerful and I felt unstoppable considering how I would act if a situation like this ever occurred. It was an excellent experience. My fellow staff members and I were pleased that our administration decided to adopt this groundbreaking new plan.
...the truth is, note-taking and talk will only take you so far. Sometimes you have to experience firsthand what reality can throw at you.
This Thursday, my husband and I had a two hour "practical" of ALICE training. Along with 40+ other district staff, we drove three miles out of town to one of the elementary schools. We were given a brief presentation form our curriculum director, SROs from the high school, and chief police officer of our city about ALICE. We were informed that we were going to go through 3-4 scenarios that would put us in the heart of ALICE because the best thing a person can do is practice and commit practice to memory in times of crisis.
We were handed masks and protective goggles.
We were led into two classrooms.
And we were told that, in the first scenario, all we could do was lockdown.
So we sat at desks and chatted. The alarm went off. We closed the doors, turned off the lights and huddled in the corner.
A "shooter" burst into our room and shot all of us with an air soft gun.
My husband was shot three times in front of me. I avoided being shot because he blocked me and I played dead.
90% of the 40+ teachers were "killed" in just over two minutes.
Our leaders brought us back into the communal classroom and we debriefed. We could all agree that this was an incredibly sobering and difficult experience. Some of us giggled nervously but most of us were angry. Several teachers expressed that they felt completely helpless and frustrated that they couldn't do more. Most of our gut reactions were to do more: run, hide even further, scream or fight back. We discussed the issues of training our students to cower and wait and what we would have done instead. Our leaders encouraged us. They emphasized with our distress. We deserved the chance to take back some power.
So they sent us back into our classrooms with our second scenario: we could evacuate.
Once more, we sat at our desks, trying to mime meetings. In my case, I was trying to keep my hands from shaking and force myself to act like it was just another day (because, let's be real: no one ever knows when a crisis will happen).
We heard screaming down the hallway.
Almost as one, our group leaped up and raced towards the door. Those in front looked back and forth and shouted that we were clear.
As a herd, we tore down the hallways. I remember covering my head.
We found the back door and ran into the playground. We saw others appear in other fields.
What felt like a year later, our leaders called us back in.
During our debrief, we found out three things: first, the body count was only a handful. Second, the whole scenario lasted under a minute. Third, the "shooter" told us she was incredibly confused and didn't know where to shoot when we burst through the doors and barreled out. She had experience shooting a weapon before and said she couldn't focus with all of us running. Were there a few "casualties"? Yes. But we were on the path to taking back the power from the intruder. Evacuation can be a life saver. Can it work in every instance? Not necessarily. But if the opportunity presents itself: it can save lives and confuse a shooter who is used to people hiding and waiting.
For a third time, we were sent back to our classrooms. This time, we were given props: ping pong balls. We were given our task: Counter.
Yet again, we sat in our desks and waited. We pretended to have meetings. I jumped anytime I saw someone by the door. I squeezed my ping pong balls like stress balls.
Without warning our door opened and a "shotgun" poked through.
To my left, a teacher screamed.
And suddenly, the air was filled with screaming, movement and flying ping pong balls.
I remember diving out of the line of fire (as my seat was facing the door) and scrambling behind a chair. I remember cowering behind that chair but chucking ping pong balls at the "shooter" as hard as I could. I know I hit her shoulder before crawling out of the way for a better vantage point.
Blessedly, our leader called a stop after only 40 seconds and we went back into the communal room for debriefing.
We chose to hear from our "shooter" first. She described how she was completely and literally blind-sided and had no idea where to aim. She did her best to follow her instructions (which was to keep shooting) but kept flinching and covering her eyes as a barrage of ping pong balls flew at her and voices screamed in her ears. The body count? Not even a handful. We discussed how these ping pong balls could represent items in our classrooms. Staplers. Tape dispensers. Chairs. Desks. 30+ Literature text books (in my case). Literally anything. We considered what we had been training out students for years--hiding and waiting--and what we could instead use in our classroom to distract and fight back. Shooters expect us to hide and wait; with the element of distraction and countering, they will flee our rooms and seek another. The fact is: fighting back can be more effective than just waiting. My mind raced as I pictured every item that could be thrown or used to barricade our door. Our classrooms are limitless arsenals if the time calls for it. And that was the first time Thursday night that I started to feel power.
We weren't done yet.
We were sent back to our rooms with ping pong balls and one direction: get to safety. There was no definition or description of what that looked like. Translation? Use what you have learned.
One final time, we sat at our desks and waited. We mimed discussions. I squeezed ping pong balls and looked weepily at my husband. This was taxing and emotional and I just wanted to be done.
And then we heard it. Not an alarm. Not a scream. Not a door open.
A gunshot.
The room paused. Then the majority rushed to the door. Some left. Others hesitated and screamed. We heard the air soft gun shoot. I dove behind a desk and prepared to throw.
I watched my husband at the door lunge out and run at something.
A lifetime later, I heard the call for stop.
The simulation lasted 11 seconds. It was stopped because my husband and one other bum-rushed the barrel of a gun pointing into the room.
My husband would later explain that he acted in the moment and explained that there was no way he could let that gunman get into the room.
As we left the room, we smelled the acrid, sulfuric stench of a gun. I've never smelled it before but won't forget it. We met one final time and debriefed the situation. We were blown away that the simulation lasted only 11 seconds. We discussed how the situation became real when we heard the blank shot instead of waiting for an alarm or screams. They did it on purpose so that we could hear it... and it invoked our most base instincts for survival. The other room managed to close the door and make enough ruckus to dissuade the shooter. When he came for our room, those that tried to escape were shot. A few realized the situation and decided to counter. This forced the gunman to stumble and run back while attempting to shoot. But the fact is: our leader had to force us to stop because two of our teachers (including my husband) lunged and swarmed the shooter to get him to stop.
We applauded each other and rubbed the sore spots from the airsoft gun (overall, I managed to avoid getting shot; my husband was shot in three of the four scenarios). We got into our cars and left.
I could barely think the rest of the night.
The truth is: this was the most empowering, informative and worthwhile professional development I have ever experienced. I can only hope that I will NEVER need to use what I learned from the ALICE practical.
But in the emotional turmoil, tears and twists (twist: I was originally "volun-told" to be the first "shooter." Our SRO took one look at my face, asked if I could really do it and promptly found someone else. There is no way I could have walked into a room and faked shooting people--one of which was my husband) I did walk away feeling powerful and feeling knowledgeable. We live in a world where the lockdown is no longer the best response. We live in a world where we have the absolute right to fight back and run for our lives. We live in a world where we have the right to take back power from an intruder. Intruders don't think we are at this point yet; they expect us to hide and wait. But with this knowledge? We absolutely can take back the power and safety in our schools. Teachers and students.
There are stories we don't hear on the news of teachers and students countering and evacuating. We tend to only hear the tragic. But there are people who have stood up and taken back the power. And with any luck... the nation will change their mind and implement all aspects of ALICE to give us the power.
I have honestly never felt more terrified, numb, moved and powerful in a staff meeting. I shed tears yesterday, shook uncontrollably, felt nothing and threw ping pong balls with as much power as I could. I watched my husband die twice. I watched others around me die and surge forward to fight back.
If there was ever an indelible moment in life, this was it.
I get to the end of writing this and feel emotionally exhausted. I struggle to find words with what else I can truly say. We practiced something almost everyone is terrified of. I walked away feeling empty and not knowing how to reach out to anyone.
But I walked away with full confidence that, if a situation like this were to ever arise in my classroom, my students would be safe. And I will show them how to be safe.
Teachers never signed on to be body-guards. But deep down: we are.
This was a long and emotional post. I had to walk away from it several times. I apologize if it hit any of you hard. But at the very least, I hope it starts a conversation.
ALICE training isn't just for the school; it is for any and all businesses. For more information, please follow the link below. I recommend any business--school, corporate, retail, etc--consider bringing someone in to go through ALICE training.
http://www.alicetraining.com/
Here is a link to President Obama's speech on the Oregon shootings. Again: I don't like bringing politics into any conversation. But his anger speaks to me.
http://www.cnn.com/2015/10/01/politics/oregon-shooting-obama-response/