6 Millimeters

For over a decade the first thing students saw when they walked up to my classroom was Anaheim Ducks forward Corey Perry. Not the real Corey Perry, of course, but a rectangular fabric door decoration that also doubled as a height chart. It was a gift given to me by a former student who found it amongst the various knick-knacks contained in her Wild Wingers Kids Club kit. She thought I would love it, and I did.

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Students would walk past fabric Corey, giving him a fist bump, poking him in the face, and many times stopping to check to see if they grew an inch from one day to the next. Since Fabric Corey was rarely level with the ground, many students would shout with joy that they were over 6 feet tall, only to be crushed by the sad realization that Fabric Corey was about 10 inches too low to give an accurate measurement. Middle school can be cruel for the vertically challenged.

Fabric Corey became a mascot for the class, and even students who weren’t in my class knew me as “The Hockey Guy” because they could always see fabric Corey when they waited for their ride home outside my room or rode their bike past the front of the school. You see, even though Fabric Corey was installed on the inside of my classroom door, he was always visible to the outside because about 70% of my door is actually made out of glass. 

While my students always enjoyed trying to use the height chart, and figured that Fabric Corey was there because I loved decorating my classroom with Anaheim Ducks merchandise, he actually served another purpose entirely. Since my classroom door was mostly transparent, his main purpose was to shield our classroom from an active shooter on campus.

During safety trainings and active shooter drills teachers are taught to lock all doors and windows, turn off the lights, close all window shades, and keep all students still, quiet, and out of sight. Since my classroom door is mostly glass, I had to improvise to create a shade that would meet the blackout requirements in the event of a violent intruder on campus. I used two large clip on magnets to hang Fabric Corey onto the metal frame of the door so that he would cover the entire glass portion. Often times the magnets would slip or get knocked off when students opened the door, so he would need attention every now and then. But for the most part he was an effective, fun solution to a problem.

Except that last sentence is utterly insane. 

Let’s be brutally honest. If a violent person with any kind of firearm wanted to get into my classroom, there is only 6 millimeters of glass between them and 32 teenagers and one math teacher hiding for their life. Fabric Corey isn’t doing a damn thing to stop it.

I write this knowing that I live and work in one of the safest cities and school districts in pretty much the entire world. The chances of an active shooter on my campus is extremely low, and yet it’s still something I must think about and plan for as part of my job as a public middle school teacher. I attend multiple training sessions each year on active shooters, lockdown drills, and “Stop The Bleed” procedures in case of gunshot wounds. I teach my students about the realities of Fight, Flight, or Freeze, and how to barricade the door with tables and chairs in case an actual shooter is present. We discuss the reality of what happens if someone violent does enter the room. 

All of this takes away from what I actually signed up for when I was earning my teaching credential. 

I signed up for teaching students about logical thinking and problem solving.

I signed up for long unpaid nights and weekends grading tests and making lesson plans.

I signed up for mentoring students through some of the most challenging two years of their lives.

I signed up to coach roller hockey and teach kids the joy of Dungeons and Dragons during lunch club.

I signed up for fire drills and earthquake preparedness.

I signed up for talking kids through difficult friendship transitions.

I signed up for knowing the signs of child abuse and being a mandated reporter.

I volunteered to do all of these things willingly, knowing that the job had many pros and cons. I knew I would never be insanely rich or live a life of luxury, and that was fine. I love my work and cherish every moment a student finally understands how to solve an equation, add two fractions, or grasp the concept of an asymptote.

Not a single teacher in the United States signed up for active shooters, bomb threats, “Stopping The Bleed”,or to watch their students and colleagues get blown apart by weapons of war. We just want to teach our students, take good care of them for 7 hours a day, and send them home to their families smarter and more confident than when they got there in the morning. And we want to make it home to our families as well.

This current reality does not have to be a “fact of life” or “just the price of freedom”.

We can do so much better.

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This year I retired Fabric Corey for two reasons. First, he hadn’t played for the Ducks in over 6 years and I figured he was past his time as a Ducks representative. Second, he was somewhat unreliable with his magnets moving quite a lot and shifting during the school day. So I designed a new door design with a more positive math-centric message.

Along with the aesthetic appeal (at least, I think it looks nice), it’s main purpose is to be a permanent window covering that won’t move during the school day.

I still have Fabric Corey waiting in the storage space behind my desk, ready to jump into action should he be needed.

May that day never come.