Today, the entire Los Angeles Unified School District was shut down because of a bomb threat.
On most days, I’m just a mom with a thirteen year old struggling to pack lunch and make it before class begins. This is what it feels like to live in LA on a day that someone threatens to bomb a school.
I was going to write a totally different post today, but then this happened. And I really need to talk about it.
I’m scared. Angry. Anxious and just so very sad that this is the reality that our children are growing up in.
I woke up at 7 to an email on my phone from the Los Angeles Times, “the entire LAUSD school system had been shut down due to bomb threat.” The Los Angeles school district is enormous with over 1,000 schools and over 600,000 students. This was serious.
My daughter attends a private school now. But she was enrolled in our local elementary from kinder through 5th, and then our neighborhood middle school for one year.
Minutes after that first email, the robo calls began. Our small private school, sandwiched between 4 large public schools sent a message reassuring parents that school would happen-but with increased security. No buses would be running because they didn’t want the students riding on a school bus. More details would follow.
I began to get texts from moms and other friends asking if I’d heard the news. Moms sharing that they were heading back to school to pick up their kids. I texted a close friend to make sure that she could pick up her daughter. Why did we connect? Because we had to.
What do you do when the world no longer makes sense? Do you overreact or just keep forging ahead with your day? We didn’t know what to do, so we just kept going. Chocolate milk in lunch box. Cheerleading uniforms and backpacks assembled.
The LA freeways, already a jammed, jumbled mess were even busier, probably with parents who’d dropped their kids off at school, headed to work and were now racing back to pick them up. People seemed more willing to let you change lanes and merge in front of them. Road rage took a backseat to civility, at least for today.
Once we exited the freeway and were back on busy city streets, we saw knots of kids walking together. Groups of four, six kids together all dressed in the standard school uniform of navy shirts and khaki pants. Were they heading home? Making their way to the subway or bus to get a ride home? The Mayor ordered all public transport to let students ride for free until noon. I wondered how many kids were riding public transit for the first time alone. How many anxious parents waited on the other end of the transit line.
Passing a middle school, their electronic billboard which usually flashed messages of test scores and band performances, now showed a simple, ominous message. “The LAUSD is closed today. Consult the news for more details.” There was no one to be seen at a campus normally alive with parents and kids hustling to make it before the morning bell.
My daughter was sitting in the backseat with a huge white bow in her hair. Worrying, probably, about a history assignment that she’s rushed to complete the night before, seemingly unaware. As I pulled into the carpool line and she opened the door to get out, I told her I loved her, as I do every single day. But this morning saying I love you seemed more urgent as I watched her walk behind the gates of her school and disappear.
Whether the bomb threat is later revealed to be real or a hoax, doesn’t change the way fear has been introduced into the daily routine.
This is what it feels like to live in Los Angeles on a day that someone threatens to bomb a school.
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xoxo-Rosemond