Death Be Not Proud

A school is a microcosm of the larger world.  In many ways, it's also like a snow globe or a model-train town set up in a department-store window.  And everyone, it seems, likes to press their noses against the window to see what's happening inside. 

I'm sure many people woke today quietly wondering what was happening inside the walls of East High School.   And, for once, I don't think a single one of us gave a moment's thought to all those noses pressed up against our windows.  No, we were very much focused on taking care of ourselves and each other.

That's how it is when a school wakes up to heartbreaking news.

While I would gladly swap today's hard news for a dozen days of mayhem and misbehavior, I must say that the people who make up East High made me mighty proud today.  And I am so thankful for all of those Spartan parents who had enough faith in our school to send their kids to us, knowing it would be a difficult day.

Whether or not you knew Tony Kirkpatrick directly--and I did not--it was impossible not to feel the reverberations of a young life--vibrant, complicated and involved--suddenly absent the next day.  The halls were quieter today, but everywhere there was a low thrum of grief and recollection and tender care.

Elementary-school teachers probably consider hugs to be a part of their regular school day.  We high-school folks, though, are a less touchy bunch, worried that a hug will result in a funny look or a terse email, so we tend to avoid them.

Not today, though. At times, I felt cosmically compelled to take hold of my student's shoulders and pull her into my embrace.

We are, perhaps, all of us, mama bears at times.

In addition to the students, plenty of East High adults cried today, men and women alike.  I know that it can be a little scary to see a teacher cry.  I can count on a single hand the times I've seen my own parents shed tears, and I remember each of those times with savant-like clarity.  But I really do believe that, in the raw aftermath of a young life lost, sharing our grief, which sometimes takes the form of tears, is an incredibly bonding experience.

In the snow globe that is East High, today--with our windows veiled in mourning--curriculum and tests and deadlines and expectations took a back seat so that we could ponder the life that was Tony Kirkpatrick's.  And, in the process, we each felt like the Grinch, our hearts having grown three sizes this day.