That day, I drove to my son’s school crying all the way. Two blocks were closed so I ran. At school, I waited two hours before I found out if my son was dead or alive until the parents of the victims were notified. On January 17, 1989, five 9 years-old children died, all were Vietnamese. My son was in the playground with the other kids and watched his friends get shot. He survived but had therapy for a year. Now, even my 5 years-old grandson has school lockdown drills.  It’s one of the worst nightmares a parent could have.