I have incredible privilege living in America. I am not going to try to cover that up. Around the world, millions of students go to school every day with 10 times the fear I have. In my own country, millions more suffer prejudices that I don't. To cover that up would be a crime. But before I continue, I feel it necessary to explain to you: regardless of prejudice or privilege, every American student faces fears every day that they shouldn't still have to face in a developed country like America. I hope this can get the word out. (Note: It starts off slow!)
Before 3rd grade, I always thought school was a safe place. It might not have been fun, it might have been a little bit scary, but I never thought I was truly in harms way. I was so excited when I took my first STAAR test, I was incredibly excited for homework. Then in the second semester, a switch flipped and I realized: I am not 100% safe at school. For the average teenager, they would roll their eyes. Of course you aren't 100% safe they would say, no one truly is. Something can always go wrong. But the fear I felt was so real. Years before I was near any source of news, and 'filthy liberal' propaganda, I had realized school was not all that safe. And I had realized this at 9 years old, all on my own.
I always thought discussions about lock down drills was normal. We had them at least twice a year back then, and my friends and I had always thought it was at least a little bit fun. Back in 2011, when we were in first grade, our teacher told us stories of going into lock down once in her career, and it was only because a 'bad guy' had robbed the grocery store 20 miles from our school. So that's what we believed, and continued to believe, until we neared 6th grade and in our math classroom, at 9am, when were 12, our teacher told us not to hide under the desks. She barricaded the door, and told us to squat down on the ground. So that we could run.
She told us it was because Texas had changed the rules. Because we had to be able to get away from the shooter. And just like that, the bad guy from the grocery store 20 miles away disappeared and an active shooter emerged. That day was a drill. And for me, it never quite clicked that year. But years later I realize, as I nearly did that day, that it had suddenly become real. I was scared that day. But I hadn't any idea of what real fear was until 6th grade hit.
Halfway through 6th grade, in my homeroom classroom, we had a lock down drill. No one knew it was a drill. The teacher heard the alarm, she locked the door, shut off the lights, and told us to put away our phones. Not having one myself, I sat there, panicking while the kids around me whispered: 'is it a drill? are we going to die?'. 2 minutes later, I sat there and I honest to god thought I could die. That is not a thought that should have ever gone through my mind. I was 12 years old. I asked myself if I was going to die. I thought I was about to. That is not a reality I want to have to 'live with'. Those were the most terrifying moments of my life.
And then after 5 minutes, over 20 calls to 911 from panicked parents, our principal came on over the loud speaker and told us it was a drill. Thanked us for our cooperation. No police ever came, I assume because they were notified that it was only a drill. But this is still a terrifying reality. Kids are dying needlessly and they don't need to be. But that was never really anything I had to worry about. It wasn't a constant thought in my mind.
I turned 13 in the Fall of 2016, on November 8 with the upcoming results of the election weighing heavy on my heart. Months earlier, walking past the Chinese restaurant near my house with my family, I asked my mom 'Is Donald Trump actually going to win?' she laughed. She told me he was a joke, and that he could never win. With all my heart, I believed her. Nevertheless, November 8 came and no one wished me a happy birthday. For over half the nation, the candidate they were so sure would win suddenly wasn't. I got my first phone that day, and my first text too. 'Donald Trump is president. We're all going to die.' That was my first text. It shouldn't have been, not only because I was 13 years old, but because when you have 7th graders crying uncontrollably in their beds at 1am because of their president, that is a sign you need to change.
For so long, I thought the election was so big because I wasn't 5 this time around. But as the months dragged on, while December turned into January and I was sitting in history class researching native american tribes, as we watched the inauguration live, as our projector was broken as distraught 13 year old's threw their pencils at it, I started to realize why this time was such a big deal. Because of Donald Trump, millions of people have died. Because of our president, millions of lives have been changed. And not in a positive way. When I came back to school on November 9, I thought surely everything would be different. It wasn't. I sat in math class and did my worksheets. Nothing changed for me. It wouldn't for a long time.
I struggled with depression in my 7th grade year, flying through it albeit crashing into thorns and making bad decisions along the way. When it finally ended, I was so relieved I wanted to cry and sob and hold onto my temporary peace tightly. Gun control and violence weren't a thought in my mind. I tumbled through my summer mindlessly, not taking much seriously and contemplating my 8th grade year ahead. Life was okay, it was peaceful and politics were not something I needed to worry about.
Hey y'all! I hope you aren't suffering too much! This is my first story, so I would highly appreciate any and all constructive criticism. Please be respectful. The next chapter will hopefully be a bit more developed. Thanks! -Jou
