grateful for my naivety

The leaves are tinted in crimson. Fog rolls in on the cool morning air. School began a month ago. And already there is drama.

As a boy-mom, my household has always been relatively drama-free. The occasional disruption of the calm usually stems from yours truly—the one with crippling anxiety and an overactive imagination. Yet sometimes, the drama takes root on a community level and seeps into our home through our cellphones. Last week, that was the case.

The high school where my fifteen year old son attends sent an email informing parents and caregivers that an “incident” had occurred. Online messages had been circulating through the student body of a planned attack at the school. Details of a shooting were being masterminded—Snapchat messages copied and shared amongst the teenagers, spreading like wildfire. The email explained that the threats were deemed benign and the school was handling the issue accordingly. Not to worry, they said.

I tried not to worry. I really did.

As Chase bounded through the front door after school, he jokingly exclaimed, “Well, I didn’t get shot today!”

A statement I never thought I’d hear.

“How do you feel about what’s happening, Kid?” I inquired.

“It’s fine, Mom. It’s just some kid being stupid.”

His flippancy was comforting. His tone was absent of fear and I felt gratitude that his sense of safety remained intact. However, as he revealed more about his day, I began to suspect that beneath the calm surface waters, turmoil bubbled within the deep.

Chase went on to share that several classmates left school that day, feeling unsafe to remain in the building. There was a police presence on the premises, which was reassuring (but perhaps jarring on a subconscious level). He and his friends made plans to run into the forest if shooting broke out.

Chase spoke so non-chalantly, it sounded as if he was describing his Subway sandwich order. In the disconnect between his demeanor and his words, I knew not a single one of his brain cells consciously registered this as a probable threat. What teenager could accept this reality?

Logically, I understood the chance of a Canadian child having access to a firearm is very, very slim. Having worked in schools for the past twenty-three years, I also know the process of investigation, due diligence, caution, and communication with families. Teenagers say stupid shit and that nonsense is circulated over social media at alarming speeds with regularity. I get it. I have also participated in more lockdown drills than I can count, trusting that this precaution will never become truly necessary in my (or my children’s) academic career.

Still, incidents like this hurt my heart.

When I can override my emotions and lean into logic, I feel immensely grateful to live in a country which feels safe. I can’t help but think of American parents who send their children to school each day with the very real possibility of tragedy occurring. While I can confidently say my child is secure at school, not everyone in North America has that privilege. The thought boggles my mind.

Perhaps my confidence is wildly naïve, but please let me hold onto it for every last second of my existence. It is a wild concept—letting our children walk in this world with freedom to explore and experience life without us following two steps behind forever protecting them. The vulnerability, when one pauses to acknowledge it, is paralyzing.
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So, while we have the opportunity to exist in a bubble of bliss, let’s soak in every moment of safety and security, and remember to kiss our kids as often as we can.