I have a first-grader

Every morning my son goes off to school. He slings a giant shark backpack over his tiny shoulder, and he waves to me as I drive away from the carpool lane.

And every morning as he turns into the school’s open door, the same fear catches my heart. What if that is the last time I see him?

This is not a normal response, I know. But it is not normal to live in a land where a man murders a classroom of first-graders. And then we do nothing to prevent this from happening again.