I’ve taught The Pillowcase Project, a preparedness program for 3rd-5th graders, ever since the course was pushed out to all American Red Cross chapters. While some classes are joys, others demand every bit of creativity I can muster to keep the students engaged with the material.

I thought I was prepared for almost anything, but discovered I was wrong in a recent session. After the formal presentation, the students had lots of questions or stories to share. I was ready to end the class when a boy who hadn’t yet spoken raised a virtual hand. After he was unmuted, he started to speak. At first, neither the teacher nor I could understand what he was saying. On the second try, we strained to hear his timid voice, “what if there’s a fire and the adults save themselves but they don’t tell the kids?”

By the magic of electronics, I was with the child in his kitchen, looking into his earnest, troubled little face. I knew he wasn’t asking a typical “what if” question. This child had reason to think that the adults he lived with wouldn’t protect him.

I’d never had a question like that. I improvised an answer, quickly reviewing what we had talked about for fire and earthquake safety and finishing with, “now that you know these things, you don’t need the adults to tell you. When you feel an earthquake or hear a smoke alarm, you’ll know what to do.” He nodded, satisfied.

I keep thinking of that child. His question haunts me.

Yes, the pandemic has presented a new set of obstacles as we’ve switched from in-person to virtual presentations. Depending on the platform being used, it may not be possible to see the students’ faces while presenting. Trying to describe how plate tectonics works to third graders who don’t have a useful visual requires very exacting instructions. Practicing an earthquake drill when you have no idea whether the students are actually dropping, covering, and holding on is an exercise in faith.

But virtual presentations still provide information that is important for children to know. And for some, like my little questioner, the class can provide a bit of safety in a harsh world.

That question has given me a renewed commitment to The Pillowcase Project. While I’ve always appreciated the program’s goal to make children (and through them, the people with whom they live) safer in the face of emergencies, now I see there’s a second, perhaps more important, role I need to play: modeling being a trustworthy adult to children who don’t live with the adults they deserve.

The Utah/Nevada Region is looking for more Pillowcase presenters. Perhaps you would like to help? If so, please contact me at betsy.morse3@redcross.org.

Betsy Morse