WHEN THE first-graders that I teach saw the exit door being installed in our classroom, their faces lighted up. It was breakfast, and as they got their bagels and orange juice out, their eyes were on the new blue door.

They studied the color and the shape and marveled at the good fortune that had brought this treasure to our classroom. Then came the questions: "Why did we get a new door?"

I could answer easily and honestly, "Our old one needed to be fixed."

Then 14 pairs of eyes studied the purple paper covering the window of the new door. After a minute, one student named the truth. "I know why you covered the window: so the bad guy won't shoot us."

The words hung in the air as all eyes turned to me. What would my reaction be, they wondered? Would I be angry that someone was talking about shooting in school? Would I deny the truth and tell them I just liked purple paper or I developed a sudden dislike of the sun on a beautiful fall day?

Or would I tell them that, yes, adults are now worried enough that someone might shoot them in their own classroom?

Moments like these come in teaching, and in parenting, without warning, without training. In these moments, I believe children are profoundly influenced. No matter what my plan book had planned, my answer would be the lesson they would take home.

I did the best I could: "We need our windows and doors covered right now."

But the eyes still watched me as the children ate breakfast unusually quietly, waiting for more. So I added, "You are very safe here at school. All the grown-ups that care about you - your teachers, your parents and the police [a new addition to our school staff] - are making sure that you are safe. Now eat your breakfast."

Not bad, I thought, exhaling. Then I waited, listening to how the information would be processed in little side discussions. The topic of the day over breakfast in my suburban first-grade class was gunfire. I lost my appetite and just listened.

It was a long day.

My challenge - our challenge - after the sniper is to learn what we can do to try to heal our children.

At my school, we started with extra outdoor recess on the first day the children had been allowed outside in more than three weeks. I have seen joy, and it is on the face of a 6-year-old getting to climb the monkey bars again.

But monkey bars can't do it all. We need to help our children learn the lessons we want them to learn from the sniper. We need to guide and shape their understanding of the world, especially now. We need to help them experience the world as a joyful, safe place again.

In my home, we have celebrated the win of the "good guys." Yes, we adults know the world is a complicated place, and "good" and "bad" are not true descriptions of people. Don't we all have a little of both? Shouldn't we teach children not to label?

It got real simple for me the first day I saw an armed police officer in my child's elementary school.

The sniper who shot a child entering school was a bad guy. That other guy in uniform putting his body between the sniper's and my child's was a good guy (or gal). This time, the good guys won, as they most often do in the end.

We need to share our relief and joy with our children just as we shared our stress. A special family dinner, or bringing cookies to your local police station, are activities that help children to heal.

"Why is that purple paper covering our new door?" is a question about more than just paper. Listen to your children now. They will ask what they want to know, when they want to know it, in the way they can ask it. We need to be extra vigilant in trying to catch the moment.

And maybe the most important thing we can try to do as parents and teachers is to be grateful. There wasn't a parent in this area who didn't hug his or her child for an extra minute the morning after the sniper announced our children weren't safe "anywhere at any time."

None of us is safe. But we can hug our children tighter every day, we can listen more carefully, we can celebrate the little joys.

If we can do these things, maybe we can turn the seed of fear and hatred planted by the sniper into something richer, healthier - something from which children can grow.Today's writer

Today's writer

Kimberly Flyr is a first-grade teacher and parent in Howard County. She wrote this after reflecting on the impact the sniper has had on the children in our area.

Metro Journal provides a forum for examining issues and events in the state and welcomes contributions from readers.