"Why I Called 911 at Daycare:

The weather was bright and sunny as I walked my last three children to the playground at the end of my workday. I worked at Westside Childcare Center, where I taught children ages three to five. In the late afternoon, all classrooms could come together outside on the playground. It made supervising easier and kept our child-to-staff ratio in check. That day, I was also covering in the office, something our manager had recently started assigning to me. She said I was the perfect fit for the job, and I often stepped in when she left early.

As I held the door open, the three children ran down the steps, laughing as they rushed to their favorite toy. I let the door swing closed behind us and followed, placing the sign-out clipboard down on the bench. I was the first teacher on the playground, and I scanned the area to watch the children while I waited for another class to come out. Once that teacher arrived, I’d head inside to the office.

Just then, the door opened again. A man stepped onto the playground—the father of one of our students. He looked directly at me, handed me a box, and said, “Hold this for me. Keep it away from the kids.” Before I could respond, he turned and walked back into the building to retrieve his children, who hadn’t made it outside yet. As I stood there holding the box, a chill ran through me. Something about the situation felt wrong. My gut screamed that this wasn’t normal. I hesitated, then slowly opened the box. My heart dropped. Inside was a gun. And drugs. For a moment, I froze. “Think, Katina,” I whispered to myself. My mind raced, heart pounding so hard I could barely think straight. What was he planning? Was anyone in danger? I had to act fast, but I couldn’t alarm the children. Just then, another teacher opened the door and walked onto the playground with her class. Seizing the moment, I cradled the box and walked quickly into the building. I tried to appear calm, chatting briefly with her, masking my fear.

Once in the office, I shut the door behind me, sat at the desk, and called 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” My name is Katina. I’m at Westside Childcare Center,” I said, barely able to steady my voice. “A parent gave me a box and told me to keep it away from the kids. I opened it. There’s a gun and drugs inside. I don’t know what he’s planning. Please come quickly—but no sirens. I don’t want to scare the children. “The dispatcher assured me help was on the way. I hung up. My hand had barely left the receiver when the father reappeared at the door, asking for the box. My stomach flipped. I couldn’t let him suspect anything. I slid some papers over the box, stalling by pretending to be busy. Then, I handed it to him.

Almost instantly, we heard the sirens. Despite my request, they blared through the air. The man panicked. Grabbing the box, he bolted through the building, nearly knocking over his children. I quickly ushered them into chairs in front of the desk and opened the door for the police. They caught him. But the gun and drugs were no longer in the box. Officers led him to the police car as others searched the building. Meanwhile, I sat at the desk, watching parents arrive, trying to act composed while dialing the children's mother. I saw the questions written on their faces, the confusion, the concern—but I couldn’t say a word yet.

That day taught me the weight of instinct and responsibility. I keep thinking—was he planning to hurt the mother? Was he planning to hurt himself? What would’ve happened if I hadn’t looked in that box? The questions still haunt me. But I made the right call. I learned that when lives are at stake, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Trusting my gut meant I could sleep at night knowing I did everything I could to protect those children—and maybe even save lives.

The police caught him, but without the gun and drugs. They walked him to the police car while other police searched the building for the gun and the drugs. They found both before they left the center. I was sitting at the desk watching parents come to get their children, while I tried to get the kids' mother on the phone. I could see them wanting to ask me what was going on written all over their faces.

In this event, I learned the importance of prioritizing safety when protecting people. Was this man going to hurt the mother of their children or the children, then himself? Would I be able to live with myself if the worst had happened, knowing that I could have stopped it? So, I would rather be safe than sorry, so that I could sleep at night.