“Active Shooter, Lock Your Doors”
About twenty years ago, I lived in a suburban town with a sniper issue. Someone fired into several windows at night for a few weeks and killed a few people.
Understandably, we were all frightened to a degree. Kids weren’t allowed to play outside. Every family locked their doors and closed their curtains. The air felt ominous and heavy, as if our peace would be disturbed by violence and chaos at any moment.
The sniper (a teenager with a rifle) was caught behind a gas station a block away from our home. It was nail-biting to live through helicopters sweeping overhead as emergency alerts declared that we should all stay inside and hunker down.
I’d already been party to gun violence before in my life — the first happened in high school. A boy in a grade above me brought a revolver to school and threatened a beloved teacher and everyone in the quad. The boy’s gun was empty, and he served a suspension. This was before Columbine, so schools weren’t as strict and lacked active shooter drills.
A few days ago, I relived a similar experience. My mom and I found out almost accidentally when a family member wasn’t allowed to drive down our road to get home.
A local business had been attacked by a lone shooter. Two people were shot, and one killed. The shooter hoofed it through the desert to escape…
