Adam Lanza,
My instinct after the horrific and selfish acts of violence you committed on Friday was to respond in anger. I wanted to write words of disgust, wrath and vitriol. But my anger was fleeting. As soon as it arose, it dissipated, leaving behind only my deep sadness. And the truth is, you don't deserve my words at all. Neither of rage nor sorrow; you do not deserve the attention, the effort or the thought. Because of that, I wish to clarify that this isn't really a letter to you or even really about you. It is a plea for kindness, for peace, for compassion. It is a cry from the soul of every warm blooded human being--not just other teachers like myself--but educators and helpers of all kinds. This letter is for any person who at any time has an opportunity to make a child feel safe, secure and worthy; in that sense, this letter is for everyone.
But as for you, Adam Lanza--I tried to imagine some big, bad, scary creature I could deem capable of such evil and I just now saw your picture. You'd barely escaped the baby-fat of boyhood! Your eyes had this deer-in-the-headlights look of frenzy--as though life itself somehow caught you by surprise. And suddenly, faced with your childlike demeanor, I imagined you at four years old. Spilling your milk, skinning your knees, climbing the monkey bars--doing all of the things that my four year old students do each and every day. I tried to imagine what has to go so horribly wrong for all of that to turn into what you became. Maybe you spilled one glass of milk too many? Or when you skinned your knee, no one was there to kiss your boo-boo better? Perhaps there was no celebration when you finally made it across the monkey bars to the other side? The fact of the matter is, it's too hard for me to imagine any little boy or girl growing up and becoming you. And it is both impossible and overwhelming to try to measure the vast depth of human suffering.
My job and my passion as an early childhood educator is to instill and impart a sense of personal security and self-worth on each and every student. Seemingly not that long ago, the most frightening aspect of childhood was the potential for your fresh scoop of ice cream to fall off the cone and into the grass. Perhaps that is a naive belief; perhaps there has always been and always will be darkness and evil out there. But on the same token, the feeling is unmistakable. Something was lost. Call it innocence or sweetness or whatever you want, but the world is different when four year old children talk about "the bad man who came into a school and shot the children dead." The world is different when police officers and maintenance men patrol my preschool building to adhere chain locks to our classroom doors and bolts to our windows. The world is different when instead of planning for ice cream parties and birthdays, we plan for emergency evacuations and where to hide inside the classrooms if, G-d forbid, such an act should occur here.
And, the world is the same. Because today, like every day, I learned with my students. I laughed with them. I played with them. I sang and talked with them. When milk was spilled, I grabbed a paper towel and with a soft tap to the shoulder, I reiterated, "It's ok, it happens." When owies occurred and tears were shed, I gave a hug and a band-aid and a gentle reminder that "It's ok to cry and feel scared. I'm here now, you'll be alright." In moments of success, I smiled, gave a high five and words of praise. Today, like every day, I encouraged my students to ask for help and to be helpers. I truly believe at the core of every child--and every adult for that matter--is the desire to feel loved, known, and understood.
I could choose to dwell in the sadness and anger of innocence lost. I could choose to live in fear of and frustration over the realization that even inside my school, I cannot necessarily keep these children safe. Or I can take a cue from the children, for they are the true teachers! For them, only kindness matters. Toys, games, friends and even feuds are all temporary and fleeting. What is BIG and IMPORTANT in this moment might not matter so much in five minutes and might not matter at all in ten. What will matter is who was there to play, learn, talk, and sing with. Who was there to help clean a spill or wipe up tears or celebrate milestones?
I often ask other adults to think about the important grown-ups in their own childhood. Who were the special people who loved you into being who are you today? If we are lucky, we can name one; if we are truly blessed we can name many! Often their actions were not necessarily grandiose nor their words so magnificent. Often, these special people were simply the parents, relatives, caregivers, teachers, community members, or other individuals who took the time, effort, and sensitivity to remind us we were loved, known and understood. They made us feel safe, they made us feel secure. They taught us we are worthy and capable and good.
For that reason specifically, this truly is more than a letter to a face behind an act of evil. It is a call to action and service. Whether or not education is your profession, we all have the potential and responsibility to be educators in a variety of realms. We have enough "education" out there about hatred and violence. I call upon myself and my fellow teachers (of all types!) to offer education on kindness and compassion. We teach as much with our actions as we do with our words. If we turn inward in despair, evil and darkness has won. Rather, let us reach out and spread the light of kindness. I encourage all who are able, to thank the special people who's acts of compassion--no matter how big or small--shaped you into the person you've become. And I encourage all of us to smile more, practice more patience, and exude more sensitivity. You never know when your seemingly minute act of kindness could be just the leverage necessary to pull its recipient from the depths of despair to the safe-haven of hope.
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