We are a campus in mourning. We have lost one of our own. The unthinkable happened when Seton Hall sophomore Jessica Moore was shot and killed one Saturday in late September. It was a senseless, random act of violence.

As parents, it is our deepest fear. Indeed, our first reaction when we heard of the off-campus shooting was to track down our own students and — even from a distance — gather them close to us. To hug them and hold them and shelter them from harm. It’s what we do as parents. Then, despite our inclinations to the contrary, we needed to let them go again.

But safety is always a concern. How do we impress upon our sons and daughters the need to be prudent, to make good choices and to avoid risks without forcing them to live in fear?
Here at Seton Hall, safety is a regular part of our conversation with our students. It should be with you, too.

As much as we think our children are just like we were and as much as we think they were brought up much the same way we were, they are children of another age. They are children who know the reality of an anxious world. They are the post-9/11 generation and their reality is so different from the halcyon days of our own childhood. They know what a lockdown is. They understand Amber Alerts.

Our own childhood fears, prompted by the talk of a Cold War and an Iron Curtain, conjured up visions of a far distant evil. For our children, the reality is a vulnerable America.

We need to be blunt. They can take it, these children of ours. We need to sit them down and talk about the realities of 21st century America.

One mother called me in September to be reassured that we were safe in South Orange. She lamented that her older daughter was at a college where students left their doors propped open and people wandered in and out of their residence halls unchecked. I was shocked that a college could pretend that here in America there are places where crime and evil are unknown. The Columbine killings happened in a sleepy hamlet in rural Colorado. Then there was the massacre at Virginia Tech nearly three years ago in the bucolic rolling hills of Blacksburg, Va.

The fiction that students are safe in tucked away hamlets only allows them to be unaware and unprotected. Students need to think about where they should go and how they should get there. In bustling areas like the New York Metropolitan Area where we are located, students are taught to be aware.

On a sunny day, the walk to the South Orange train station goes through a bustling route, filled with people and car traffic. I wouldn’t hesitate to do it — it is a good, healthy walk. But, when the sun goes down and people go indoors, I would recommend that students jump on our campus shuttle to get to and from the train station.

Seton Hall tells our students to keep their campus doors locked and to close the campus gates behind them when they enter campus. We provide conversation about domestic violence and public safety. We offer RAD (Rape Aggression Defense) to our students and employees. Our siren alert is tested, we work with the South Orange Fire Department to perform regular fire drills. Last year, we received a federal grant that allowed Seton Hall to develop an interactive website that teaches emergency preparedness to our freshman students. The “Code Blue” webpage is a fun way to teach students three skills: Be Aware, Be Prepared and Take Action.

One mother called me last month and asked me to talk some safety sense to her son, because he didn’t listen to her. I told her that we were doing just that. But that she had to continue talking to her son too. Even if she thought he wasn’t listening.

Back when my kids first learned to drive, I constantly cautioned them to “watch out for the wet leaves.” I gave that admonition so often that it became a family joke, but it worked. No one in the Gottlieb family drives after a fall rain without slowing down and avoiding big piles of leaves. I kept the message light, but I made my point.

That’s what we need to do about personal safety. Keep the message light, but make them vigilant. Because, as parents, it’s what we are meant to do.