Gun for the Teacher by Penelope Walters Swenson is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Many people are
suggesting a solution to the problem of school violence is to arm teachers and
other school personnel. The story below
is fiction (although the characters are based on people I know), but it could
be if several things proposed did happen.
I really do not think they will when cooler heads prevail. I’m hoping for reasonable gun control
limitation, perhaps limits on large clips/magazines and some sort of slowdown on the large numbers of semi-automatic "sporting" rifles and a new, realistic look at mental illness or even simply kids and
others who are struggling with problems.
Having over 40 years experience as a teacher and administrator, I
obviously have some strong feelings on this subject.
Gun for the Teacher
Penelope Walters Swenson
Penelope Walters Swenson
It has been several months since the administration requested
that department chairs be armed. I
resisted, but, since the legislature repealed the prohibition on guns being
carried in schools, I was pushed to comply.
Being chair used to mean dealing with how much of our very small budget
could be spent on tradebooks or an occasional magazine in addition to being
sure we were following the district curriculum and were meeting our improvement
goals. Now I am to carry a gun and be
ready to defend. Defend what? Defend
how? I cannot say that the three poorly organized sessions of training (one
hour each time) and the sessions at the range gave me any confidence that I
could sort out who should be shot and how to avoid collateral damage in the
concrete areas like hallways if I ever were called upon to draw my gun. (How would I ever forgive myself if a bullet
went astray and injured or even killed a student or colleague?)
Making things more complicated was the passage of an “open
carry” law. A parent can come on campus
with a gun strapped to her flank (or his flank as this is an equal opportunity
law). One of our 18 year olds is
challenging this new open carry law as it specifies he cannot carry his gun at
school, even though he can elsewhere.
The case will not have a hearing until after he graduates, if he
graduates, but it creates a ripple of concern through the faculty.
I feel a bit uncomfortable carrying heat. Sure, as a kid I hunted. I shot on a NRA team. My police officer dad would make bets with
unsuspecting out-of-town cops that his kid (me) could beat them shooting his
service pistol and generally he won. (We
would go to the Blue Feather for a lemon ice cream cone when we won.) But still, this is different. I’m not firing a gun to kill a pheasant. I’m not carrying a gun into the range for
practice or a competition or even to win a few bucks for my dad. The purpose of my gun is to make the school
safer.
I’m not convinced.
Three days ago, I came upon a fight in the hall. I shouted at the guys to break it up. The hallway was filled with students
watching. I moved in closer. It was uncomfortable as I knew my gun was
slipping along against the pressing students.
I called to the guys again, using their names. “Samuel, go with Mr. Douglas.” Fortunately, Mr. Douglas was just coming out
of his classroom. He nodded. “Jacob, come with me.” The fight was a halfhearted bit of pushing
and shoving. Neither combatant was
engaged to the point of being really dangerous, despite encouragement from some
in the group, begging for escalation.
A student behind me shouted, “Hey teach, why didn’t you draw
on ‘em?” I did not respond, but
underneath I was shaken. What if it had
been one of those serious fights? What
if the two did not break it up? The gun
was useless as a threat.
In class, a bit later, Damien asked, “You know how to use
that thing? Pull it out of the holster, I want to see what it looks like.”
“Sorry Damien, I don’t unholster the gun. It is just fine where it is.”
“Bet you can’t use it.
Bet you don’t even know how to load it.
Bet you don’t even know what kind of gun it is.”
I gave Damien THE LOOK and told him to pick up his text and
start reading. (Gun vs. THE look, I’ll
take THE look as my weapon of choice!)
I knew it was a Glock.
I knew how to load it, having one extra magazine on my belt to
supplement the 10 in the limited magazine already in the gun. I did not know how to use it in a crowded
hallway with many surfaces where ricochet could occur. Further, unless I had a very clear shot and
extreme clarity on why I should shoot, I would not be able to. Threaten me?
I could not kill. Threaten Damien
or Jacob or Samuel or Marta—maybe. But
not in that ricochet-prone hallway filled with kids. Better for me to run at the intruder and hope
the kids could escape.
I’ve always been the type who would wade into a situation
and talk it down to a rational level or, at least, get the kids to a place
where they could chill for a few minutes and get calm. I feel comfortable doing that. Can I do it with a Glock strapped to my hip?
Am I just an older woman, a heck of a teacher, but not a law
enforcement officer, waiting for someone to push me over and steal the
gun? I’ve read about trained, strong,
young law enforcement officers being overpowered and having their weapons
taken. Me? I was pretty strong three decades ago, but
even then one or two sturdy kids could have taken me down. And attacking a teacher does not carry as
serious a penalty as attacking a police officer.
I’m still a good shot.
I actually find target practice sort of fun, probably because I beat the
guys—city boys who never hunted and were not in the military. Being a country girl did give me an
advantage.
Ramon comes in the door, stopping my reflection. He stands there, eyeing the pistol over my
jeans. “I came to say goodbye.” He looks very nervous. “I’m on the run from the cops for something
they think—for something I did.” He
pauses. “That gun just does not fit you
Ms. Teach. You are not the Glock
type. I’ll remember you trying to help
me write my ideas on a paper—not with a gun.”
He started toward me as if to give me a hug. There were tears, or I thought there
were. “I won’t forget you. I thought I owed it to you to say
goodbye.” He turned away, hastening
toward the door. He shouted back to me as he dashed out, “I know you’ll call
the cops—you must, but lose the gun Teach.
You couldn’t ever use it. I
promise I’ll go to college someday.” The
door slammed. I called the police. They asked where Ramon was going. I did not know; I had not asked.
I’m a teacher, not a police officer. I respect the police. My Dad was an officer. But it is not for me.
Wearing the gun makes me less confident in those things I do
well with kids. I’m good at establishing
relationships, helping them set standards for themselves, probing ideas more
deeply. Ramon knows the gun is not for
me. I ponder, is Ramon one of my
failures? Right now it seems like it,
but, I don’t think so. Time will
tell. He knows he has much good inside
and so do I.
But I don’t feel good inside with the gun on my flank. I’m a teacher. We are caring, compassionate, and sometimes
relentless. Our relentlessness has to do
with our belief that all kids can learn, that education means something for the
kids and the future of this nation. The
Glock holds me back from my professional goals.
In many ways, the Glock stands between me and my kids. For some, I am a reason for them to stay
straight--avoiding trouble. They know I care. They know I want their success and am there
for them, whether it is attending games or consoling after a teenage breakup or
helping with an application.
I head to the principal’s office. “Mr. Thomas, I cannot do this.” I take off the belt and the Glock, unload it,
and hand the belt, holster, magazine, and Glock to him. “Wearing this is antithetical to being the
teacher I must be. If it is required, I
will find a way out of it.” I’m almost
skipping as I leave the office.
Would I put my life on the line like Victoria Soto and the
others at Sandy Hook? Yes, I would do
that as did Shannon Wright, Dave Sanders, and others in earlier school
shootings. They put the safety of their
students above their own. Would I try to
tackle an assailant? Of course I would
try. Do I want to carry a gun? No thanks, I’m a teacher.
An afterthought—As a teacher or administrator, I need to
exhibit the behaviors I want kids to emulate.
I must strive to be my best self—honorable and ethical, patient,
life-long learner, courageous without arrogance, all those values and qualities
that make us good citizens and learners.
Wearing that gun on my hip suggests there are problems I cannot solve
with my personal efforts.
I remember facing a girl who had been doing graffiti all
over the school. She was not our
student. I asked her to go to my
office. She was big and strong, I could
tell that by how she carried herself she was tough. She was about 8 to 10 feet in front of me and
behind me was a wall of windows—not of tempered glass. She said, “Who’s gonna make me?” I took a step toward her. She started toward my office. Yes, I was scared inside, but I had a job to
do. I knew she could have taken me in an
instant, but that half step toward her communicated that I was not
intimidated. She walked into my office,
sat down, and began to give excuses.
After figuring out who her parents were, I called her mom. Problem solved. Mom came and assessed the situation. She took the young lady home and administered
punishment. (The girl also returned and helped me paint
over the markings. She was very polite.) The next day most of the kids at the school
knew what happened. There was a new respect
for me, the assistant principal. Would a
gun have helped? Not at all. It would have been a crutch, negating my
personal skills, undermining my integrity in the process, and making me
ineffective. Keep the gun Mr. Thomas, I
don’t need it; I’m a teacher.
