When I entered my English class punctually at 12:40 p.m., the air was filled with joy and love: it was Valentine’s Day. Naturally, we began with a lighthearted discussion about this often dreaded day. My teacher suddenly pulled out an article for us to read. As I looked down at the sheet of paper on my desk, I was shocked into silence. Today was also the second anniversary of the school shooting in Parkland, Florida.
After everyone read the article, we quietly talked about the events of the shooting. This was nothing like our usual exuberant conversations about Plato or Dante. As we discussed how people in America have slowly become desensitized to gun violence, I wondered how terrified the students in the shooting must have been.
One of my classmates started to cry when she revealed that she personally knew two people who were killed that day. I never thought that someone in my own school could be so deeply affected by an event that occurred over 1,000 miles away. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the agony she was experiencing.
I finally understood that day that no matter how well someone maintained their composure, nobody but them knew how they felt under the surface. I learned to listen respectfully when someone was grieving. My classmate wasn’t looking for sympathy; she wanted her friends’ stories to be told. Maybe that would make gun violence seem more real to us, a class of juniors who heard about a school shooting almost every month.
From that day on, I decided that I would always listen. When discussing sensitive topics, people often just want others to listen to them, for their voices to be heard. I know I can’t just assume someone feels happy or safe because of their facial expressions. In this era of school shootings, I learned that we must advocate for each other to create a safer world. I will always notice and understand what people have to say so that they’ll know they’re not alone.
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