Always A 49er

I have traversed every corner of the University of NC at Charlotte campus.  I have walked the halls of every building. I have both learned and taught inside its classrooms.  I have spent countless hours buried in research inside Atkins Library, my sanctuary.

I have buried my bare toes in the grassy knolls by the pond behind Rowe.  I have carefully skirted hissing, nesting geese on my way to class.  I walked across the stage to accept my diploma, becoming the first college graduate in my entire family.

I fell in love there. I fell out of love there. I became an adult there.  I lost myself there. I found myself there.  I made lifelong friendships there.  I met my mentors there. I got my professional start there.  I joyfully announced my pregnancy to my friends inside one of the original buildings, Denny. My boyfriend, who is now my husband, used to drive me to class just so we'd have more time together.  Then he'd sit and play games until I was through so he could drive me home.  My children have walked, holding my hand, to my classes and my office and the library. So much of my life unfolded at UNC Charlotte.  So much of who I am is because of people and events on that campus.  UNCC is home.  I bleed green.

And today my heart is broken because some vile person violated my home and murdered people in my sacred spaces.

When I saw the breaking news last night, I lost my breath.  The tears came immediately, streaming down my face in hot rivulets.  I immediately reached out to friends and mentors, former colleagues, frantic--are you okay?

My loved ones are safe.  But okay? No.  No one is okay.  I am not okay.

My children were nearly late to school this morning.  I forced a smile and tried to control my rising fear as I ushered them to the car. On the way to school we discussed the shooting.  My youngest daughter said, "I'll never be a bad guy with a gun, mommy.  Never."  Oh my darling.  I know.

 I walked her into her pre-K class, and I hugged her too long.  She said, "Let go, mommy. I have stuff to do."  I kissed her cheek and reluctantly let go.  I took my older daughter through the drop off line at her elementary school.  I told her I loved her and to have a good day.  And I pulled over to cry on the way home.

My children are not safe.  They could be murdered at their desks in a place that should be safe.  If I return to teaching, I could be shot by some angry 22 year old white man with a gun and no remorse.

 My one year old son is not in daycare.  I was thinking of putting him in a two day a week program.  I won't now.  He is safer at home with me.  They all are.

And they all deserve better than this.

We live in a war zone, a war zone where you can be murdered for going to school or going to church or going to the mall.  We live in a war zone in a nation steeped in cognitive dissonance and denial of our own decline, a nation that refuses to protect our children.