The New Disasters

Mount St. Helens erupted the day after my first birthday. Every year, throughout my childhood, the local news stations replayed the video of the volcanic blast every May 18th. I held a special connection to the mountain and KIRO's annual coverage of St. Helens' anniversary always felt like a belated birthday present from them to me.

courtesy of KPBS

Growing up during the 80s in the Seattle suburbs, we were bombarded with the possibilities of nature's wrath. St. Helens was one of many volcanoes in the region. Baker, Rainier, Adams, Hood, and Glacier all posed real and possible dangers to the Pacific Northwest. We had an abundance of rain and seasonal threats of flooding. There were chances of fires and blackouts caused by electrical storms. We didn't get much snow, but when we did the ice would paralyze the region, making roads anything from hazardous to navigationally impassible. My high school was next door to a dairy farm, and on warm days, if the breeze drifted from the right (wrong?) direction, the odor could be unbearable. We were given the nickname "Cow Pie High." If possible, we risked death by dairy air.

There was also the wind. When I was in sixth grade, I watched live news coverage as a windstorm blew waves over the surface of the floating bridge to Mercer Island, eventually causing the roadway to collapse and sink into Lake Washington. In January of '93, another storm blew in on the day Bill Clinton was inaugurated as president. We were sheltered in place in my eight-grade art class with Mr. Wilson when the power went out. Mr. Wilson was also the yearbook instructor, so his room was windowless and we sat in darkness for the remainder of the day. No one was allowed to leave campus until a parent came to pick us up. Later that night, as the storm raged on, my dad and I went for a walk. We watched power-lines fall and transformers ignite from the force of wind. At one point, I leaned backwards like a trust-fall and the gusts were strong enough to hold me upright.

courtesy of the Oso Darrington Daily

Seismologists constantly warned we were overdue for the “big one,” predicting a massive earthquake would reduce our region to rubble. So, we practiced regular earthquake drills in school. Two of the three quakes I experienced happened during school events. The first in January of ‘95 while the wrestling team stopped for dinner after a tournament, I was on the bus and we were parked near the epicenter. The second happened a little more than a year later in May of '96, our drama club was in the middle of our final dress rehearsal for Neil Simon's Rumors and I was hanging out back stage with one of the girls in the tech crew. After evacuating the auditorium, our parking lot was filled with scared and panicked students filled with the relief of living to retell our stories of survival.

Every generation fears the end is inevitable. During the 1960s, my parents' generation participated in duck & cover practice, fearing a nuclear attack from the USSR. I remember regular fire and earthquake drills throughout my school years and we were sure if our end was coming, the disaster would be a natural one. My kids' generation is different. Sure, they still do fire drills, but they don't fear the planet the same way we did when I was younger. They are aware their lives could end in disaster. However, instead of fearing death from a foreign enemy or the vengeance of natural forces, they believe the most likely scenario to bring their world to a bloody halt is an angry classmate. They're subjected to active shooter drills and bombarded with headlines of school violence. After the mass shooting in Santa Fe, one of the students expressed this resignation in a TV interview when she said, "I've always felt it would eventually happen here too."

English has been my oldest son's favorite subjects this year. The class is led by his favorite teacher who has been a constant source of encouragement. Since September, Christian has enjoyed conversations with this teacher about literature and life. They frequently discussed Christian's favorite novel, The Giver, and with the teacher's support, Christian entered his first speech competition and turned into a talented and creative writer. As the school year closes, his English class was assigned one final project: they were instructed to compose a fictional story about surviving disaster. Christian was excited about this work and he composed a tale in first person perspective, a narrative where the protagonist began a normal day with annoying younger siblings, middle school crushes, educational propaganda, ambitious teachers, and conversations between best friends. He portrayed what it's like to be a junior high student whose life is interrupted in the middle of math class. The disaster he chose was an active shooter. He described the sound of fireworks nearby, witnessing an investigating teacher meeting their fate, students hiding behind desks, the fight or flight response to terror, and grief over the loss of a friend.

image courtesy of TIME

This is the modern reality students face every day. They leave their house each morning wondering if it was the last time they'll tell their parents goodbye. They spend their day pondering which of their peers will snap. They study their classrooms and hallways to determine the best places to hide if someone starts shooting. Every gym, every cafeteria, every portable. Any campus could be the next headline. Our students believe a sentiment like the girl in Santa Fe: It will eventually happen here too.

Over the last twenty years, our societal fears have devolved. Acts of God now pale in comparison to acts of man, and I mourn for America. This is what we've become. How do we fix it? More guns? Less guns? I don't have an answer. All I know is our priorities are messed up. We celebrate violence and have deified the second amendment. We've placed more value in our weapons than we have in human lives. Until we change our culture, alter the way we think about firearms and the sanctity of life, I'm not sure any solution will be adequate.

Yesterday, Christian's English teacher praised his ability to craft a story after reading the rough draft. Today, Christian turned in his final project to be graded and we're both expecting a high score. Tomorrow is his last day of school. This weekend, I'm going to hug my kids, thank God they have survived another year, and pray their fears will never come to fruition.