You’re Never Too Old to Learn

Belinda Hartsell eyed the student intern suspiciously. "She looks over-eager, idealistic, and starry-eyed," she sighed to herself. Twenty plus years of experience gave her the right to first impression judgments. Out loud she welcomed the twenty-two-year-old teacher intern.

"Good morning, Ms— " she let the greeting hang, realizing she forgot the youngster's name.

"Oh, Ms. Levitt," the dark-eyed coed gushed. Belinda saw this one as another over-achiever with lofty dreams. Once upon a time Belinda was, too.

"Ms. Levitt, let's head to my classroom where you can observe the students and the typical morning routine," she instructed. The local university claimed student interns were gifts. They would lighten the teachers’ loads as well as grant the students real-life experience. Sometimes the first part was true, but trusting her instincts about this one, Belinda doubted it.

Belinda walked purposefully towards her English II room, hoping the wannabe educator would match her stride. A lot could be learned from a person's walk. Too slowly indicated hesitancy or self-doubt. Too bouncy showed unrealistic expectations. Too softly gave away a fear to take control. What Belinda wanted from these yet-to-be-teachers was a confident stance, a full-length stride, and sharp, staccato steps. In her five years of mentoring, she’d never mismatched a walk and a judgment.

Ms. Levitt almost hopped alongside her, taking multiple baby steps to match one of Belinda’s. The veteran teacher had to hide an eye roll from her. Hopping equaled self-image concerns. The hopper was the one who wanted to make a good impression, to make friends with students, to walk side-by-side with her charges. It never worked. “This one might be a real doozy,” Belinda thought, silently wishing she had refused the “gift” of an intern.

As she opened the classroom door, the sophomore students took their seats and openly admired the fresh meat. Belinda quickly shut down the student leers, introduced Ms. Levitt, and directed the newcomer to sit at the back of the class. As the morning announcements played on the white screen at the front of the classroom, Belinda provided Ms. Levitt with the day’s agenda, highlighting the student objectives and evaluative practices she had planned. The young girl looked overwhelmed, but Belinda knew Ms. Levitt had to jump right into this job.

More than twenty years ago Belinda sat at the back of a similar classroom, and she remembered learning by fire as well. Painful but necessary. She was really doing interns a favor showing them a typical day in the life of today’s teacher. That was her gift to them.

Once the college student was reading the day’s syllabus, Belinda turned to the high school students to begin instruction.

Then, the regular routine was broken.

The school-wide intercom system crackled and squealed, the sound a microphone makes when the speaker is too close to it. “Lockdown, lockdown, full lockdown immediately!” a frightened, shaky voice declared.

It was only 7:15 in the morning. This was not a drill; the principal never called a practiced event this early.

Shouting, screaming, and cursing echoed in the hallways. And a gunshot. Before Belinda had a chance to process what was happening, the intern had jumped up, run to the classroom door and locked it. Belinda was in fight-or-flight mode, with flight not being an option. Frozen, however, was a choice, and that was how Ms. Levitt found her when the girl raced to the front of the room.

“Call 9-1-1,” she instructed Belinda.

Calmly, the intern addressed the panicked students who were beginning to cry and come unglued. “Get away from the door and window. Sit against the wall in the corner. Be deathly quiet.”

As the teens followed this new leader’s directions, Belinda looked around the room at the growing scene. She felt like a fish out of water; she had never experienced this before; fire drills, earthquake and tornado drills were old hat; active shooter drills were not. Questions ran in her head. Do they cover their heads? Am I supposed to submit something to the office on the computer? Do I call anyone? Is this really happening? The questions raced; her feet did not. She was rooted to the spot, almost catatonic as the realization that a school shooting was in progress just outside her room.

Ms. Levitt approached the frozen Belinda in a split second. “Mrs. Hartsell,” she said, “please call 9-1-1 on the classroom phone and do not hang up with them. Keep the phone receiver with you as you sit against the wall by your desk. We want the first responders to hear anything that might be going on out in the hall.”

Belinda simply stared at this girl who seemed so in-control.

“Please move, Mrs. Hartsell,” she urged, not unkindly. In the meantime, Ms. Levitt raced towards a large movable wardrobe cabinet and, with two students assisting, pushed it directly in front of the door, blocking anyone who might unlock the door from actually opening it. Neither the students nor the intern had to speak. It was if they knew instinctively what to do.

Another gunshot sounded.

Belinda called the emergency number and breathlessly explained that the school was on lockdown. The dispatcher informed her that help was already on the way, but Belinda couldn’t even answer her. “Ma’am, ma’am, are you there?” She just stared at the receiver, in shock.

Ms. Levitt took the phone from her shaking hands, and objectively relayed the sounds occurring in the hallway, whispering messages about the logistics of the classroom and the people stuck inside. “We are in Room #122, have twenty-four students present and two adults and have heard two gunshots at this point.”

Ms. Levitt exerted control of the fragile state of the classroom. Aware that twenty-some-odd teenagers, children still, cried silently at various points in her room, Belinda forced herself into action to offer some reassurance from her vantage point. She peeked out at the student closest to her desk. He was wide-eyed, pale-faced, and rocking with his arms clasped around his knees. Bunching his football jacket, he had prepared his version of a missile, a leather snowball. Belinda caught his eyes and using her many years of parenting skills, offered a smile and hushed words of comfort: “Leo, we’re going to be okay. We will all survive this. Pass it on!” She wanted the words to be the mantra of this hodgepodge of students: athletes, artists, arcade lovers, and academic stars. He stared at her, at first like a deer in headlights, then pulling his head up and nodding slightly. He whispered the words to the young lady next to him, the one with the purple hair, cat ears, and tutu over her polka dot leggings. Belinda saw him gently put his arm around her and rub her shoulder. She looked frightened of his motive, but then leaned in to hear his words. She nodded to him, placed her hand on the shoulder of the girl sitting next to her, the one who always wrote stories, and told her the same determined hope. The room slowly took on the feeling of strength.

The young almost-a-teacher beside Belinda had become a leader in a heartbeat. The bouncy, fresh-faced, twenty-two-year-old managed a crisis with the experience of a twenty-two year veteran.

Within fifteen minutes of the morning announcements, police officers ushered the entire school population to safety. Outside, holding arms above her head in the traditional surrender manner, Belinda felt she was in a surreal world. When they were rushed to a safe location, she called her husband to relay the information he was sure to hear on the news. Then she waited with the rest of the students, faculty, administrators and support staff to be cleared. Belinda ruminated on what just happened. She knew the consequences of surviving this ordeal would extend a lifetime. She was vaguely aware that the ambulances she heard, then saw, signaled injuries or maybe even fatalities, and that everyone’s nightmares would be forever littered with the experience of today.

In the ensuing days, chaos morphed into quiet acceptance. Two fatalities, which doesn’t seem like a lot, are two too many in a school. It could have been more. The steadfastness of Ms. Levitt was a by-product of today’s teacher training programs, Belinda realized. Had she not been gifted Ms. Amelia Levitt that day, who knows if her classroom would have remained the composed arena it was. Belinda was forever humbled by that insight, so much so that she continued her profession with renewed vigor for all who want to shape the future of education.

Gifts come in all shapes and sizes. This one was a petite, twenty-two-year-old who proved Belinda’s prejudices, preconceptions, and presumptions wrong. Ms. Levitt became the catalyst for a new Belinda - one who willingly accepted the gift of any intern, especially one with a hoppy walk and an eager spirit. It was a real plus if they shared the name Amelia.