Bees to bullets

Teaching before and after expiration of assault weapons ban

Teaching has always required an adherence to a plan, and a readiness for classroom curveballs. The curveballs have changed, however. Whereas once they were opportunities for learning, they are now often frightening — and even deadly — occurrences. In an ironic twist, the attention required of teachers to guard against gun violence in schools diverts us from attending to our most vulnerable children — possibly, the very ones committing gun violence.

I remember my teaching career in the 1990s as a lively balancing act between plan and reality. One day our math activity was hijacked by a bee flying in the window, causing hysterical drama and overturned chairs. Another time, the coveted school microscopes I managed to obtain for a science activity got thrown up on. And quite often, I had to push aside my afternoon lessons to address bullying or insensitive behavior that occurred during recess. I couldn’t prepare for all the surprises that came my way, but I could lay out a good plan, deal with the curveballs, and right the ship again. I shepherded that bee out the window, I cleaned those microscopes, and I hugged the kids who were bullied. I was aware that my students were watching the way I handled the unexpected. So I used these moments to teach flexibility, determination, and most importantly, compassion.

In 2001, I left teaching to raise my family. During my hiatus, a lot changed in the world of education: standardized tests, budget cuts, and social media all played a part in upsetting the balance of the teaching day. Most notably, there was a deterioration of responsibil ity toward our nation’s children, on the part of our Congress. In 2004, they allowed the ban on assault weapons to expire. The NRA secured itself as a privileged class in our country, becoming more important and protected by Congress than anyone else. The gun industry began aggressively marketing to vulnerable young men and boys. In short order, sales of assault weapons skyrocketed. “School shootings” became a part of the national vernacular.

Today, I have resumed my career in education. There is a stark difference in the role of the teacher from the 1990s. I often feel like a soldier rather than a teacher, poised for defense. The focus on classroom safety makes it harder to carve out the time to really get to know the students and focus on their needs. As before, we design the perfect plans, knowing we will be presented with messy curveballs. Only now, instead of closing the window against bees, we lock the door against the threat of bullets. Instead of hunting down the microscopes, we scan the room for safe corners. Instead of addressing bullying, and building empathy and compassion for each other, we hold lockdown drills.

I like to think that I still notice the kid who needs a hug. But I can’t be sure, because patrolling against the very real threat of a school shooting brings with it an electric current of anxiety that is ever-present, and distracting. The luxury of teaching empathy and reaching out to the kid being bullied has taken a back seat to simply keeping our kids alive. The resulting neglect of our most vulnerable kids will likely allow for a lonely, misunderstood population, to be preyed on by the gun industry.

I believe children can be saved by education, and that they, in turn, can better the world. I never imagined that legislators would suggest I need a gun to do this job. I don’t want a weapon near my students, and they could tell you I can’t even throw a tennis ball with accuracy anyway. I just want to go back to scanning the desks for who needs my love and encouragement, not who is too close to the doorway. I want to listen for their arrival with excitement, not vigilance. I want a good day to be when everyone learns, not just when everyone lives.

A national assault weapons ban would not take all the curveballs out of the picture. But it would take the deadly one out of the picture. And then, we could get back to teaching what matters.

Dan Haar / Hearst Connecticut Media Darcy Hicks, left, of Westport, and Laura Totten of Stamford react to a speech by Whoopi Goldberg in the New York Women’s March 2018 in January. Hicks founded DefenDemocracy of Connecticut after the 2017 Womens March.