My boys experienced two gun violence incidents in their middle school within the span of four days this month. On a Friday, my 6th grader was walking between classes and another kid told him he heard a rumor that someone was planning to shoot kids at school that day. My legend of a child reported it to the office. The school investigated and found the rumor to be just that. We didn’t know as parents until an email at the end of the day.
The following Wednesday, while my 8th grader was in his first class, seven police officers entered the classroom and arrested a child with a gun. It turned out to be a BB gun. That was fortunate, but the kids and teacher are still traumatized. The young teacher apparently broke down in tears afterwards, telling the kids she loves them.
When my son came home and told me, I cried. He hugged me and said, “It’s ok, Mom.” I said, “It’s absolutely not ok.” He said, “I know, but…” What do you say? There is no scenario that makes it ok for my child to comfort my tears after he experienced a terrifying incident a school. An incident that was completely avoidable.
That same evening, our school district emailed all of us to let us know they’d heard of a nationwide threat to schools for that Friday. It appeared to be part of some social media challenge, although they’d discovered no credible threats to our community. Didn’t matter. My son and his friends didn’t want to go to school that day, after what they’d just experienced. Their parents didn’t want them to go either. They stayed home. Thankfully, there was no issue anywhere in the country. That day.
But the problem is that there easily could have been and everyone knows that. In America, we live on edge, always wondering, continually worried.
Each time we experience a gun violence-related issue (and I can count seven in the 2 1/2 years since we’ve lived here), I feel guilty for moving my family out of Australia and back here. My husband and I talked that week about how we would take the steps to begin the daunting, long, expensive process to move back, if that’s what the kids want. We want them to feel safe, and we agree to do whatever it takes in that regard.
I spoke to each of my older boys. My 6th grader says he feels safe and doesn’t want to move. He finally has stopped pining for Australia and is happy here. He doesn’t want to go through that massive move again.
My 8th grader said he doesn’t feel completely safe, but he doesn’t want to go through that move again. He is settled here; he likes the mountains; he likes his new friends and he doesn’t want to have to make new ones again. He said he and his friends have discussed how you can never feel completely safe here, but it’s just a reality; you can’t let that fear affect your every day. You know it could happen, but you just need to live.
How incredibly grown up of 13-year-old children to talk that way. How incredibly sad that they have to. How incredibly shameful that we American adults allow it to continue.
Although I personally despise guns, and would be completely happy if they were all destroyed and we all went out to hug a tree when we felt angry, I am realistic. I completely understand that guns are legal for everyday private citizens for any reason in this country and they always will be.
For the record, I like living here also. I don’t want to move. I know that guns are a part of our reality. What I wish wasn’t part of our reality was a lack of responsibility towards owning machines of which the only function is death and destruction. I wish it wasn’t our reality that people joke about guns, make threats and act frivolously in regards to guns.
I wish my husband could go teach at high school for “Ugly Christmas Sweater Day” and not see a teenager wearing a Christmas sweater with a machine gun on it.
I wish I wouldn’t walk into Costco with my children and see a sticker on a truck that says “Heavily Armed, Easily Pissed”.
I wish I wouldn’t see photos of our lawmakers posing for their Christmas cards with everyone in the family wearing a smile and an automatic rifle.
I wish I wouldn’t be exploring a national park and come across another tourist wearing a t-shirt on which it is written: “Welcome to Idaho. Assume everyone is armed.”
I wish I wouldn’t be shopping in a touristy gift shop and see plaques for sale made of the images of two guns with the slogan: “In this house, we don’t call 9-1-1.”
Americans like guns. Clearly. But basically, I wish people didn’t speak of them humorously and treat them as toys, a bit of fun.
To own a gun for hunting is one thing. To own a gun for personal protection is another. It means the owner is fearful. It shows a lack of trust and faith in humanity. It shows a separation. Basically, I wish that people here didn’t use their fear to intimidate, to blithely threaten others and attempt to show strength, when the underlying fear is quite clear.
Americans don’t have to live this way, held hostage to threats and obscene humor. Let those of us who have lived, and who currently live truly free, free from fear, show you the way. We can get there. But it starts with respect–respect of “toys” designed purely to kill and maim, and respect for humanity. If you own a gun, you are not merely exercising a right. You are in possession of a serious responsibility, to yourself and your community. Act like it.
After the latest school shooting in Michigan (still can’t wrap my head around writing “the latest”), I saw this meme. It’s so not funny, so disgustingly sad that it’s true, that it put my stomach in a knot. Let’s be better than this.
Your gun is a heavy weight. It is a serious responsibility. It is not a toy. It is not fun. It is not to be spoken of, or treated lightly. It has no functional purpose other than to kill or injure. Remember that. Never lose sight of that. Train yourself regularly on skilful use. Lock it away. Be a mature, reponsible member of society and don’t joke about something that’s not funny.
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