Said one STEM parent,
The chatter from the stream of families leaving the Northridge Recreation Center — for today, a family reunification hub — was disturbing, and not just because we’ve heard nearly the same words so many times before.
“My whole focus was trying not to die.”
“I was in study hall and everyone started running.”
“Did you hear? They broke down the door and there was blood all over the place.”
Reporters are used to the stomach-turning feeling of rolling up to the scene of something horrific and approaching scared, grieving people during what might well be the worst moment of their year or even life, then politely bothering them to say, hi, I’m a reporter, and do you have a moment to talk about what just happened?
My natural discomfort with this ritual is trumped my belief in the importance of reporters as community storytellers. Even — maybe especially — in communities’ darkest hours. And so I walked over to the rec center to do what I’d do on any scene: talk to people involved and try to come away with a story.
“Worst nightmare,” a mom said.
Her son, 8th-grader Gianni, chimed in. He talked about the gunshots he heard, about how everyone fell quiet, about how he “just sat there and prayed.”
Gianni said he wasn’t surprised by what happened. He was remarkably composed for a kid just hours removed from such a harrowing scene.
