“Are you in lockdown?”

An incident at school Wednesday, followed by a flurry of confusing text messages from my son, had me texting him this question:

“Are you in lockdown?”

I didn’t ask this frivolously. It was the only way I could think of to interpret the incoming messages. The only way I could figure out whether the incident he was describing occurred off school grounds or was happening in real time. And to determine whether he was in danger.

The magnitude of that exchange did not hit me until the next morning. This is where we are, folks. A place and time where I can text my child this question as a matter of course.

This is where we are.

Never in my life did I believe I would accept something so scary, so chilling, as a commonplace question. A practical means to an end.

Our kids are under siege. What the hell are we going to do about it?

As parents we suffer so many anxieties, worries, frustrations and fears. But that our kids will be shot in a school, mall or church? At a concert or movie? Seriously? That is not sane.

This isn’t a war-torn country. We don’t live in Somalia or Syria or Afghanistan. This is the United States of America. A country I still believe to be the greatest in the world. But a great country protects its future and we are not doing that. Why have we come so far and fought so hard if we’re willing to sacrifice our children to outdated and dangerous ideals?

I don’t have all the answer and I don’t believe this problem can be completely solved with stricter gun laws. But your gun vs. my kid? I don’t even have to draw a breath to respond to that one.

This is the real world where many of us live and I want you to see it and hear it. To think about the kid, my kid, who got THAT text and had to answer THAT question. To his mom. In the middle of his school day. And I want you to realize it could easily be yours tomorrow or next week or next month.

Lockdown isn’t normal. Active shooter drills aren’t normal. None of this is normal.

Please, oh God, please – don’t let this be the new normal.

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Random thoughts from a bus trip

It’s been two weeks since I rode a bus full of band students from Minneapolis to Chicago and the pain is beginning to fade. As I caught up on some miscellaneous tasks today, I came across the random notes I made on my iPad during the trip. My iPad and the wi-fi on the bus kept me sane. They gave me something to do, despite the fact that I was fighting for the wi-fi with 40 teens, most of whom were either playing Clash of Clans or streaming Netflix.

An aside: Six of those students are now upstairs prepping for a dance. I’m not sure why they’re all at our home, but I think I might have been voted “least objectionable parent”.

Anyway, here are a few of the thoughts I captured during the 30-odd hours we spent on the bus:

  • When you chaperone teens no one wants to sit by you so you score a whole seat.
  • This bus could have used some aggressive vacuuming before we boarded.
  • I’m going to have to be very careful not to accidentally swear.
  • Ick. I wish I hadn’t dropped my coat on the floor.
  • Chaperoning teens is a little like being Vice President of the United States – no one really believes you have any power.
  • It’s getting pretty ripe in here. I hope none of those smells are me.
  • No matter how many times you tell junior high students they cannot eat on the bus, they will eat on the bus. They will ALL eat on the bus. Even if they’re sitting right next to you.
  • I would never have guessed I could sleep on a bus on which at least thirty-five people are shouting, but then again, I did fall asleep in that nightclub in San Francisco.
  • The $8 popcorn at Navy Pier really is worth $8, and one should not be left alone with it.
  • If I’d driven in the opposite direction for this same amount of time without stopping I could be in Montana right now.
  • Why is it the only person who left their musical instrument on the bus is my daughter? And she thinks I’m not going to notice?

Someone asked me if I might consider chaperoning again in three years when my oldest son makes the Chicago trip. Despite the fact that he will spend even more time trying to avoid me than my daughter (if that’s even possible) I might be ready by then. I’m guessing, like childbirth, the thought of the pain grows dim over time to be replaced by precious memories.

Umm…let’s see. Precious memories from the trip…