Teachers have too difficult a job to expect them to carry guns and stop school shooting massacres
I was in school, during class, and had a thought, but not even. It materialized for half a second, not long enough to be called a thought.
I wish I had a gun.
I'm a teacher in an all-boys high school. My job is to stay cool despite my surroundings. I'm encircled by young adults who have the freedom and license to say what they'd like without any consequences. The most vile and rude words have been said to my face. I usually laugh it off. But sometimes I have bad days, where the cruel words get under my skin.
Combined with being tired and not feeling accomplished as a teacher, I react poorly. In these moments, I don't trust myself with a gun. I would not want access to a firearm because some of my worst moments as a human being have been in front of children. My worst thoughts, my worst impulses, my most inhumane and angry flashes.
One time, I was called out of my ninth-grade class down to the principal's office. A particularly misbehaving ninth-grader's parents came in for a meeting with my employer. I was a mess, fighting with my class to settle down. Worse, I was not expecting this conference and had many thoughts and feelings building up to this moment.
Adrenaline-running, I forced myself to smile, to craft some modicum of professionalism. My boss was sitting behind his messy desk across from the parents as the student stood there awkwardly. This was after four months of torment from this child.