The Lockdown Drill Picture Book Is As Sad as You Think

We're regulars at the library, and I've come to know the stacks like the back of my hand, but one day I noticed the saddest-looking book. It had an illustration of four little kids huddled around a teacher in the dark. "Not Like Every Day," the title read. "Finding Calm During School Lockdown Drills," the prehead noted.

The story, written by Stephanie V. W. Lucianovic, follows a boy named Henry at school on the day of a lockdown drill, the protocol instructors use to secure a classroom when there is danger on campus, like an active shooter.

During the drill, Ms. Betancourt—a doe-faced teddy bear-type—locks the door, cuts the lights, and quiets the classroom. "I try to make myself as small as possible," says Henry. "And then smaller even than that," he adds while clutching his knees.

The illustrations by Gabrielle Grimard depict children with a tenderness beyond their years, like one child steadying a fidgeting classmate with his tiny hands. They're also ominous, like the blurry silhouette of a person hovering in front of a classroom door. "The doorknob rattles," says Henry. "I know it's just the assistant principal checking. But I still don't like it," he explains.

The tension gives meek-eyed Henry anxiety, and he struggles to play after the lights turn on, the doors open, and everyone heads outside for recess. "I watch. I don't join. My stomach is still twisted in the middle," he says.

The story makes me feel a lot of things. I feel angry that it exists, but with more than 150 incidents of gunfire on school grounds last year, I understand why it's necessary. I feel frustrated that no matter how high deaths climb, politicians refuse to pass any meaningful regulation. But mostly, I feel tired. Tired that America loves guns more than it loves children, and this reality adds to the pile of ways I'm powerless to protect mine.

The book is recommended for kids as young as four, but I didn't read it to mine. It's no slight to the author or illustrator, who tackled a tough topic poignantly. I just won't normalize the idea of a 5-year-old being responsible for their own self-preservation. Call me old-fashioned, but a child should never learn to dodge a bullet before they can spell it.