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     Tommy was never a fan of winter attire. It was always so heavy for his little ten-year-old legs to bear. As his mom, Andrea, drove him to school, he thought about grandpa’s stories of trudging fifteen miles in the snow with four layers of clothing and clunky boots. "It could be worse," he thought to himself as he struggled to zip up his heavy vest.

     “You still haven’t gotten that thing on?” said his mom, glancing into the backseat from her own behind her steering wheel. Her son shook his head in defeat. “Hurry up, we’re almost to the school.”

     The zipper was fighting tooth and nail to stay where it felt comfortable. Tommy wished he could do the same. “Mom, do I have to?”

     “We’ve been over this, son. Yes.”

     “But it’s too big.”

     “You’ll…grow into it.” She sighed while turning the final corner.

     “What? How long do I have to wear it?”

     “Until we say you don’t have to anymore.”

     “But Carl says—”

     “Carl’s dad has already ordered him one, too. All of your friends will have one soon enough.”

     “But it’s stupid.”

     “Enough!” his mother yelled. “Keeping you healthy is the least stupid thing in the world.” She heard her son groan in the backseat as she pulled into the drop-off line. They waited several minutes for the line to move, and many more to reach the gated entrance. All in all, 45 minutes had passed.

     A man dressed in various shades of green, brown, and tan opened Tommy’s door for him, and gave mom a chance to say a few words.

     “I love you, son. No matter what happens, remember that, okay?”

     “Yeah, yeah.”

     “Say it back, please.”

     “I love you, too, mom.”

     “Okay, you’ve got your special I.D. hanging from your lanyard, there. How about your little hat? Put it on.”

     “Awe, mom, come on—”

     Andrea’s lips bent into a frown, and her eyes pleaded with the little boy. It worked. He sighed and put it on his head, stepping out for the man who greeted them.

     “Right this way,” said the man in green. They passed through a narrow opening between the tall chain link fencing and barb wire, and into the double door entrance to the school building. To Tommy’s surprise, he wasn’t the only kid in the hallway wearing a Kevlar helmet and vest. In fact, most of his classmates were waddling around in the same way he did, clearly too small for their protective equipment. The army man turned and walked outside to receive another child. Coach Sanders and the math teacher, Mrs. Rutherford, took over sign-in from there. Both wore pistol holsters at their hips.

     Tommy set his backpack on a conveyor belt for inspection and looked at the metal detectors to his left and right. Coach Sanders waved him through. To his surprise, a loud alarm rang out as he did. Mr. Sanders and Mrs. Rutherford each stepped back with caution, and the latter touched her holstered glock in preparation.

     The fourth grader’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as the alarm echoed through the hall. A little girl even screamed. Conversations ceased. The army man appeared from the doorway with his weapon slung casually to one side, and in his hand was a metal-detecting wand.

     “Whoa, buddy,” he said to Tommy. “Hold out your arms slowly.”

     Tommy did as he was told. The wand waved silently across his body until finally beeping at the boy’s right front pocket. Without any warning, the man reached into the pocket… and pulled out a die-cast toy car. Audible sighs of relief seemed to whisk life back into the crowded school hallway, and within seconds, the usual murmurings continued.

     “Good morning, Tommy,” said Mrs. Rutherford as she scanned his I. D. card and handed him his ransacked backpack. She pleasantly waved him along as if nothing had happened. On his way to Mrs. Greenfield’s classroom, he passed under a banner of an American flag, its inscription saying “Home of The Brave.”