I had signed up to be a Mystery Reader this week. A Mystery Reader is a surprise visitor to the kindergarten class, who reads their child's favorite book. I got to the school a little early, and the kids were still having recess on the playground. They were loud, loud enough that I could hear their glee from inside my car, on the other side of the street. Awesome, that loudness. They're okay, those kids. I'm not okay, not yet. As I walked up to the school, I noticed the gate was closed. Is it always closed? I don't know. But it wasn't locked, so I opened it and went onto school grounds, walked down the path to the main entrance. The doors to the school are glass, but they're framed such that there's a metal bar across at hip height. You need to be buzzed in, and then buzzed in again to the main office. That door is also glass, but with wood framing, and a bit more substantial. If you smashed the glass with a rifle, you couldn't just rush in -- you'd have to clamber over the framing bar, or climb under. Did they plan it that way? I signed in, but they didn't ask for ID. Would they have, if I'd been a white man, instead of a brown woman carrying a picture book? I don't know. I saw other adults going in and out; some wore badges, some didn't. I asked the office manager how she was doing; she said she was okay. That's something. I HATE that I am doing safety checks and threat assessments at my daughter's school. I hate that I have to think about this at all. This is wrong, people. This is so, so wrong.