Because I can't end the day on such a downer . . . .

From an e-mail sent to me by my lovely wife:

Q. How many members of the Bush administration does it take to change a lightbulb?

A. Ten.
One to deny that a light bulb needs to be changed;
One to attack the patriotism of anyone who says the light bulb needs to be changed;
One to blame Clinton for burning out the light bulb;
One to arrange the invasion of a country rumored to have a secret stockpile of light bulbs;
One to give a billion dollar no-bid contract to Halliburton for the new light bulb;
One to arrange a photograph of Bush, dressed as a janitor, standing on a step ladder under the banner: LIGHT BULB CHANGE ACCOMPLISHED;
One administration insider to resign and write a book documenting in detail how Bush was literally in the dark;
One to viciously smear #7;
One surrogate to campaign on TV and at rallies on how George Bush has had a strong light-bulb-changing policy all along;
One to confuse Americans about the difference between screwing a lightbulb and screwing the country.

Of course, the Bush administration's answer is somewhat different:

None.
There is nothing wrong with the light bulb;
Its conditions are improving every day.
Any reports of its lack of incandescence are delusional spin
from the liberal media. That light bulb has served honorably, and anything you say undermines the lighting effect.
Why do you hate freedom?

Am I a bad person?

So I was reading my sister's blog, and she has a post on the latest development in school safety: schools in Texas teaching kids and teachers to fight back if a gunman enters their school. Obviously, there are varying opinions on whether this is a good idea. I won't get into that debate right now, except to say that if you work someplace where this sort of training is considered necessary, you deserve way more money than any ten teachers make. But the story, as you might imagine, has led to many discussions among my teaching colleagues, and one of the conversations revolves around putting yourself between your students and danger--basically the idea of taking a bullet for one of your kids. My sis says she would do it, as I'm sure most of us would.

Now, when this topic comes up, there are the invariable jokes about, "Well, I wouldn't take a bullet for (insert the name of your most troublesome/annoying/unhygienic student here)." And it's a defense mechanism, a tension reliever, and it gets a laugh, and we move on. But here's the thing--when I ponder the question seriously for a moment, I can think of at least one kid in every single one of my classes who I honestly would not, given the chance to think, stand in front of a bullet for.

I'm not saying I want these kids to die. I'm saying that, if I had time to actually consider the choice, I would not be willing to deprive my wife of her husband, my parents of their son, my siblings of their brother, for the sake of certain little shits who seem to do nothing in my presence but try to make the world around them a less pleasant place. And yes, I know that they're all somebody's son or daughter, somebody's brother or sister, somebody's friend. I'm fully aware of that point. I'm saying that this argument would not compel me to lay down my life for theirs if I had time to think about it.

Time to think about it, of course, is unlikely. And I am in the somewhat unusual position of knowing exactly what my instincts would tell me to do in such a situation. I know this because of an incident that happened in my class the day after Columbine. Long story short, we had a "Code Blue" that was announced as "NOT a drill," I went to secure my classroom door, and someone began to open it. Becuase of our location in the building and the time of day, I fully expected that no one should have been anywhere near that door, and so I was utterly convinced for those two and a half seconds that someone was about to come in my room and start shooting. And my only thought upon reaching that conclusion was to wonder how many kids I could shield with my body, and would that give any of them time to get away. Fortunately for everybody (since I'm skinny and thus not much of a shield), it turned out to be a fellow teacher who happened to be right by my classroom and was, as you may have guessed, unarmed.

So I know what I would do in a split-second. It's the three or four seconds after that I'm worried about. Does that make me a bad person?

And if you think this is a depressing topic, try considering the fact that this subject is even relevant at all. That'll make you reach for your Prozac.

So what lesson have we learned today, kids? That's right: always be nice to people, because you never know who might have to save your life.