When I hear the news of yet another school shooting, I wonder about my choice of a profession.  They didn’t cover how to defend yourself against a kid with a gun in Teacher College; let alone how to make the choice to be the last line of defense, to put yourself between the shooter and the rest of your students.  It’s a demoralizing, scary, horrific situation to consider while cleaning up after another day in a classroom.

But then my speechers come in with a big bag of chocolates and orange flowers and a card signed by the entire team because they all wanted to wish me a happy birthday, and they linger, and we sit on desks and chat about New York and musicals and their AP classes.

These are the kids I teach.

P.S. This.

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