No

When I get to school at 6:30, there are usually two or three other cars there. When I arrived today, there were over a dozen, one of them from the district Mental Health Crisis team. Someone was going to have a bad day.

I have held friends as they mourned the loss of their students, but I have never lost one of my own... until today. You would think I would've been prepared- urban setting, high crime neighborhoods, all the usual social problems associated with that. But how can anyone possibly be prepared to have the principal put his hand on your shoulder as you walk in and ask you to step into his office? I imagine that families of military personnel feel that way when there's a government car in the driveway.

She was a pretty, quiet little girl; the one you seat next to the talkers to help maintain some control. On an interest survey I had them all fill out, she said she wanted to be an actress or a "vetranaran". She smiled shyly when I made bad jokes, and looked properly solemn when I reminded the class for the fifth time to be quiet. She was eager to pass out papers and stayed after to tell me about her hamster (or was it a guinea pig?). She had a small group of friends, and they shared the same table for breakfast and lunch. They laughed their little-girl laughs and looked at boys. She played an instrument in band, although I'm ashamed to admit I don't know which one, and she was trying out for basketball.

I had exactly one and a half hours to get through my shock and grief so I could be there for my kids when they arrived. Some of the older teachers said, "You'll get used to it after a few times". Dear God, do they hear themselves?! I DON'T WANT TO GET USED TO THE DEATH OF A 13 YEAR OLD CHILD! Not her, not one of MY kids.

I always think that I have some professional distance from my kids, and that while I care for them, I'm not this attached. Somehow, life always reminds me that once they walk into my classroom, they are mine, like it or not.

During my planning period, the principal called me to come down to the office. Dreading the conversation, I was greeted with the sight of a grieving family, devastated by two bullets; one killed their youngest daughter, the other put her sister into a coma. A woman I've never met asked if I was me. When I said yes, she hugged me so tightly I almost stopped breathing. Sobs wracked her body as she choked out how much her daughter had loved my class, and how she was excited about a project we were beginning this week. Screw composure, I lost it. The rest of my classes saw me cry- and I held them as they cried, too. I don't care if we don't learn one thing on the list of important crap- this year, all I want to make sure every one of my kids knows is that they are loved.

Hope your day was better.