I’m terrified for school kids. The ones who settle down in cozy reading corners and meeting circles. The ones who run rampant and shriek with laughter during lunch periods. The ones who copy math problems off whiteboards, pass up their worksheets and join teams and clubs just to spend more time with their friends. On the morning I make my way to my niece's school program 19 children and two teachers are murdered at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas. By the time I find a seat next to my brother in the Helen Street School auditorium, I've heard about the massacre. The kids in front of me play violins, and at least one young girl draws a bow against a cello. I remember being like them, a young student reading music while keeping an eye on my band director. I try to focus on the sounds they make, the...

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