One week ago, I found out about lockdowns.
So a lockdown is a monthly or bi-monthly test practiced by the schools to prepare in case somebody comes in with a machine gun.
The protocol is as follows: all of a sudden, someone screams “lockdown” on the interphone. The teachers run to lock the door. They quickly warn the kids.They switch off the lights. And everybody runs behind the book shelf and stays silent. The classroom cannot be reopened unless the teacher is provided with a series of secret passwords. Therefore usually, the teachers and kids have to stay in the dark for as long as fifteen minutes.
This obviously made me want to cry. Nayla is three. That seems a bit young to find out about mass murder. I shrug, blaming their constant paranoia, but I can’t help feeling a start of panic because – well because it doesn’t seem that unlikely.
A few days later, I talk about lockdowns at Charlotte’s daycare. Her teacher knows: “yes, we do lockdowns here too”. Now I just laugh. How can Charlotte and a bunch of one year-olds keep silent for so long? The teacher explains: “we are locked down in the bathroom (behind Charlotte’s classroom). So we just give them our cell phones to keep them busy, and lots of cookies”.
So for Charlotte, lockdown = free cookies + cell phone = Nirvana.
I guess I have a hint as regards how America manages to create IRA generations….