I write this blog for two reasons. The first is for fun. The second is for therapy.
Sometimes I just write because its so much fun to have people tell me that they laughed at my words. They say they were entertained, and that makes me feel fantastic.
But sometimes I write because if I don’t, I might just collapse into a depth of anger and grief that will overcome me like a terrible wave. If I don’t write, I won’t be able to get up in the morning.
So here I am, again, again, again…writing my anger, my sorrow, my feeling of complete helplessness.
Here I am, again. Writing about guns. Again.
Writing because another innocent baby was slaughtered by a guy with a gun. And I can’t stand it any more.
I know people who own, use, carry, store guns. Some of them are people I love dearly. Many are people I respect and admire.
But I believe, with every single molecule of my being, that they are morally wrong to own guns.
Some of them tell me, “Oh, but I have used guns my whole life, and I have never shot anyone!” To them I say, “So what?” Does your lack of suicide, murder, accident, psychotic break erase the thousands of deaths caused by guns? No.
Until you can assure me that humans can be miraculously made perfect, then guns are too great a risk for us to endure.
Others tell me that they need protection, in case someone breaks in to their home. Again, I say, please look at the real statistics. Your chances of being killed by an armed intruder are less than your risk of being killed by lightning. And you know what? Your odds of being killed by an intruder are far, far, far less than the risk that one of your kids will be killed by that gun you love so much.
And finally, there is the group of responsible gun owners, (and they truly are!!!), who tell me that they simply enjoy the sport of shooting.
This is the argument that angers me the most.
Because you know what? We live in the United States of America. There are literally millions of ways that we can entertain ourselves. As someone who has never in my life laid a finger on a gun, I can assure that life can be full and beautiful and joyous without ever pulling a trigger.
Take up golf, for God’s sake. Go hiking. Learn to paint. Volunteer in your local pediatric unit.
Play a nice safe video game and shoot whatever you want.
Then there is the famous “Right to bear arms.”
The poorly written, murky, confusing Second Amendment to our Constitution was only very very, VERY recently interpreted to mean that individuals have a “right” to carry a gun.
Before 2008, that wasn’t what it meant, legally. It meant what it said: “A WELL REGULATED MILITIA.”
Sorry. My rage is rising again.
But even if you honestly believe that somehow you have the “right” to own your gun, I want you to look at these faces.
Look at this little face:
And now that you’ve looked at those innocent, blameless babies, you tell me that you truly believe your right to “bear arms” is more sacred, more valued, more critical than the right of these babies to go to school in safety. You tell me that your “right” to shoot for fun, or to feel less scared of the big, bad world, is more holy and more valuable than the right of those little ones to get in Grammie’s car to go for a ride.
I don’t want to hear that you think you know what James Madison was thinking. I don’t want to hear that “taking away the guns will never happen.” And don’t DARE to tell me, without guns, they’d find another way.
I’m not trying to end all death. I am not God.
I AM trying to get my fellow Americans to realize that the purposeless death of ONE child is too much.
Step back. Look at the “right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” Look at your babies. Look at the babies in the store, at the park, sitting on Santa’s knee.
Then please, please, please. Put down your weapons.
And tell the NRA to go FUCK THEMSELVES.