Not all heroes wear capes

Whenever bad things happened in the world, my grandfather use to say, "if there is one thing you take away from tragedy, it's that you should remember to leave room for hope". 

I still remember the day when my elementary school teacher was in the middle of reading us a story, a comedic superhero picture book. Laughter filled the classroom as we were entranced by Ms. H's enthusiastic voice. As she was nearing the end, the principal came in through the doorway. 

Many trained our eyes on him as he walked in, nodded his head, and wore a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. He was tall and commanding, and he made it his duty to know every single name of his students. We had over 300 at the school. Needless to say, everyone looked up to him. In that moment, everyone literally was. 

Ms. H finished flipped over one of the pages, and turned her head to our new guest. Before she could say anything, our principal raised a hand and bent down next to her. 

Her smile formed by her first graders drifted away as he whispered something in her ear. For a moment she focused away from us, eyes downcast. She lowered the book in her lap and closed it. 

Murmurs from the six year olds began, and one kid spoke up for us all, "Are we gonna finish the book?" 

She pursed her lips, staring down at the book. "We will" she forced out, voice above a whisper.

"But first" the principle announced, raising to his full height, and putting a hand on her shoulder. "I have something to tell you all". At this, hushed tones filled the once lively classroom.

Our first grade teacher finally lifted her head and looked at all of us. Her face morphed into what I had once thought was sadness, but now I consider confusion. Forehead creased and lips parted. The joys of reading a story mere moments ago, turned into worry about how to tell these young children - staring curiously at her worried face - that people, right that second, were dying.

Blinking back tears, she got up and walked into the hallway. 

I can still remember the principal looking at us with a solemn face. He stood in front of us, leaning back on the chalkboard counter. He crossed his feet, gripped his hands on the counter behind him, eyes moving around the classroom. Though it had only been a few weeks into the new school year, the room was decorated along with personalized name cards that sat on our desks. Then he settled his eyes on us. 

A group of 20 or so children, sitting cross-legged, wearing overalls, cartoon shirts, and band-aids on their knees from running too fast during recesses. 

He distinctly took a breath before he began to talk to us. He started his explanation of a terrible, purposeful event caused by very bad people. It was happening right this minute, many people were hurt and others were dying. In first grader terms, it sounded like the bad guys were winning. However, he also kept reminding us that there were a number of firefighters, paramedics and police officers uniting together to help.

Though I barely recall the details of his speech, I do know that we were all trying to understand. A few of us gasped at the mention of death - now that was scary, some started whispering questions to one another, no definitive answer being mentioned.

But I can clearly recall turning my head as I heard muffled sounds in the hallway, and witnessing something else I could not comprehend: seeing my teacher, along with a few others, consoling each other. 

That’s the only real thing I can remember from that day. Real as in the sense that it gave me goosebumps. It was scary in the sense that as a kid, seeing sadness in adults, especially teachers, brings an overwhelming feeling of angst and confusion.

Before I knew it, recess came. We rushed outside once the bell told us of our 20 minutes of freedom. I ran on the pavement amongst my peers, and slowed to a stop as my feet reached the grassy fields. My classmates and I treated the rest of that school day like any other, six year olds parted into their own groups or a world of their own. 

It wasn't until after school when I came home when I realized the true extent and impact of the events. The TV was replaying what occurred that morning, along with updates and interviews. My eyes were glued to the screen, as my parents asked me if I knew what happened. I nodded and said they told us at school. The TV stayed on that evening, even through dinner. 

For our entire lives thus far, we had perceived the innocence of the world around us, and suddenly we were given a taste of unchartered territory. There was an unspoken amount of questions left unanswered and waiting to be asked one day. Just like the book, the one Ms. H never ended up finishing, there were still pages to be turned. A story left untold.