This post is for me to share with those of you who are interested a well written article on gun control issues.
The piece is written by Larry Correia and posted on his blog, and while it is very long, he states in clear terms everything that I have grown to understand and believe from my own personal experience about the subject of gun control within the United States.
To be clear, I agree with Mr. Corriea in every single respect that he wrote, although I have less faith than he does that there would be as many teachers or administrators in each school across the country that would be willing to volunteer to be properly armed, trained and committed to using those weapons in the defense of the children in their care.
I personally lean more towards schools having a budget for local off-duty law enforcement professionals to be hired to serve as security during school hours. There is already an established practise of off-duty law enforcement officers being allowed to hire on as uniformed security at bars and nightclubs, so the issue there would be cost, not establishing a process.
If you disagree with my position, I understand. Everyone has their own experiences in life that inform their beliefs, and there are few things in this world that inspire as much of an emotional response as guns do.
But just as you have your own experiences and beliefs and I respect your right to hold them firm, I have lived my own life and come to my own understanding of these issues, and I stand by them just as strongly.
What Larry Corriea expresses in his article is what believe to be a true representation of gun control legislation and the facts behind the various issues. And because I do feel this strongly about the subject, and because my blog is about me being honest and up front about what I believe or am passionate about, I’m sharing it here.
Everything I write here on the blog from my own life is true. Absolutely true. In an age of internet anonymity and attention seeking through lying, I write about what I’ve actually done and seen, and I’m not going to pretend that the current political advantage people are trying to derive from a horrible tragedy doesn’t make me feel a bit sick.
When I write a storytime about getting drunk on Parris Island and sleeping it off on the top of a water tower, by God that is the literal truth of what happened. I’m not trying to make myself seem cooler, or smarter, or whatever. You read some of my stories, you’ll see. I’ve done some incredibly stupid things in my life, and the real story is I’m a lucky son of a bitch who could have been dead for, well, for being careless with my own life.
Maybe it’s just how I grew up being exposed to the black humor of law enforcement officers like my father, and then the rough humor of the Marine Corps that leads me to think there is a funny side to my stories. Maybe when you read them, instead of amusement you think “What a stupid bastard.” It doesn’t matter, whether they are funny, sad, or stupid, they happened the way they did.
It was all real life and how I responded to it, and that is where I’m always trying to come from.
How is this at all relevant to gun control and my sharing it here on my blog?
Here is some more of my true life.
I don’t talk about my first ten years of life on the blog for a reason that seems good to me. To my mind, there wasn’t anything positive in those first ten years to talk about. There are no funny stories, no cute anecdotes, I don’t have a touching teachable moment.
My folks got divorced at a real early age, my mom was manic-depressive and violent, VERY violent, and she got custody. She wasn’t able to hold down a steady job, and so we went where it was cheap and she could get emotional support from her family – the inner city of Miami.
My childhood was one of violence. Serious violence. I have been stabbed before, I have seen shootings and beatings, I have been chased by a pack of kids bent on beating me bloody with sticks, chains and broken bottles on a football field after school. There was nothing thrilling about it; I was running for my life, as scared as it is possible to be. Whenever I hear the song “Here come the high astepper”, I think about that moment, and believe it or not I smile, because I can smile now at shit that scared me to death at the time. I was a high-steppin’ son of a bitch THAT day, that’s for sure.
I had a bottle smashed over my head by another kid, just because he wanted the bottle and I had it in my hand, and it drove him into a rage. I was three. My head was split open and stitched up, and I can still feel the scars.
I was attacked by a group of much older kids when on my bike. I was smashed right off the bike, and then beaten bloody. It is hard to remember, since nothing got broken that time.
In Miami schools, I was once threatened, seriously threatened, to be killed by gang kids. not joking, not bravado, but a serious threat to kill me if they were able to catch me after school. I tell you now, with absolute honesty, that for over a week I carried a gun to school with me, every day, in fear for my life and knowing that if I told my mother I would simply be beaten, beaten as hard as you can imagine, for daring to lie to ‘try to get out of having to go to school’.
For those curious about such things, the gun was a Baeur .25 automatic, a small pocket pistol kind of thing, and yes, it was loaded and yes, if those kids had managed to corner me, and come at me, I would no shit have drawn that weapon and used it. I was absolutely certain they meant to kill me, and I did my best to scurry like a rat scared out of my mind of being caught by the kids, and also of being caught skipping school by my mother.
I never showed the gun to anyone else at school. It wasn’t a cry for help. It wasn’t something to be cool. It was something I prayed I wouldn’t get caught with or get in trouble for having, and that I hoped and prayed I wouldn’t need by being cornered by them. I spent most of my time that week not being seen, heard or caught by them. I was invisible.
Fortunately, I hid well. I found places to be, like the library, anywhere but the school at any time except a millisecond before and after the bell rang. They couldn’t find me, so they went after other kids and forgot about me. But, ah what could have been. I could have been just another senseless statistic in the news.
As soon as I figured out they forgot about me, I slid that gun back in the dresser drawer I found it in, because I was just as scared of being caught with a gun as I was that I’d get beaten or stabbed to death.
I wasn’t afraid of being bullied. Everyone gets bullied at some point, and in my school all the damn time. There is a lot of truth that standing up and fighting back, and doing it so as not to make them feel they HAVE to fight to prove they aren’t scared of YOU now, that makes you more work than they were looking for, and they go torment someone else. This wasn’t that, this was a gang thing, and there was nothing else to do but hide and pray and be ready if they caught me.
Everyone has their own experiences. Mine don’t make me better or worse than other people.
I’m putting it out there so that you understand, before you talk to me about gun control, inner city violence, abject poverty, the availability of guns and how effective gun control laws are or could be, please don’t make the mistake of stereotyping me as a clueless middle-class suburban white guy sitting fat and happy with a cigar and a brandy, relaxing in my wealth earned by stepping on the faces of the proletariat. I have a pretty firm grasp of what inner city life is like.
If you don’t want to hear about it, if you believe that if I oppose gun control I must be evil, biased, heartless or greedy, then I do understand. I am not sharing Larry’s article out of a misguided sense of trying to convert the gun control advocate faithful.
What I hope is that someone out there has read about gun control and the issues surrounding it, heard a lot about gun control and violence through the news, but aren’t quite convinced they have the whole story, and are still open to learning more about it from other sources.
Will I alienate and anger some of you, who have been long time readers?
Unfortunately, I am sure I will, and that saddens me. I never start out the day hoping I can piss someone off or offend them. I don’t get my rocks off by hurting anyones feelings.
This is smiply what I believe. To pretend otherwise for fear of offending readers would be cowardly. This is a part of who I am, and I am quite happy about it. I can only hope that most of you either believe the same, are open to a different point of view, or are able to respect, if not my beliefs, than the fact that I am willing to stand by them.
So long as I have this venue for expressing my own strongly held beliefs, I am going to take this chance to share Larry Corriea’s article with everyone I can.
I keep saying how important this is to me, and I want to be clear why. I’m old now, I’m 44. I am well past the age of your usual activist. The world is what it is, and my ability to influence it in any way is small at best.
My son is nine years old now. He’s almost ten. I grew up in violence that he could not even remotely dream of. To me, that is the one major victory of my entire life. Everything else, EVERYTHING else in my life is meaningless crap, except that the life my son is living is so much better, so much more loving than anything I ever knew in my own.
My son, to my knowledge, has never been bullied at school, the playground or at home. Not in any way I would recognise. He might have had some pushing thing or an argument over whose turn it is to use a toy, but nothing where a knife or broken bottle might come into play. I have a hard time even conceiving what that would be like; I have no frame of reference for it. There is a reason why I am wholeheartedly behind paying so that my son can go to a small private Catholic school, and it’s not because of the stirring religious message and the Friday mass.
One of the things I worry about is how to keep him from absorbing a message of intolerance or hatred towards others with different lifestyles or views. I have accepted that worry in exchange for being free from worrying over whether he’s going to get shanked between classes. Okay, yes, that’s a joke. I live in Minnesota in the suburbs, I’m pretty sure that if he goes to public class out here, he’ll be okay, no shanking.
All of it, all of his life, all of our care to help him grow in love and kindness can be wiped away in an instant, in a heartbeat, simply because the school that my son and all other children his age attends is wide open to any predator with a will to make his name as a psycho, without any possibility of an effective response within 10 to 15 minutes of that first moment of horror.
As a former Marine, I know how useless a response ten to fifteen minutes after the first gunshot would be.
I feel that what we hold most precious in our lives, what we cherish the most, is what we should protect and defend the strongest, with everything that we have.
And I also feel that gun control legislation, in all of it’s many proposed forms, is useless in addressing that problem.
The only issue in all of this debate that I care about is, “How do we ensure the safety and security of our defenseless children”, and no matter what anyone says, I do not believe we are going to accomplish that goal by placing new rules on what types of guns are allowed to be sold in the future, by actively taking existing guns away from law abiding citizens, or by keeping better records on people who have had mental health issues or are on certain medications.
If the debate does not center on a proactive response that provides a fast, immediate reaction against violence at the time it occurs, than it does nothing about the core issue that I care about.
I want my son to have the life that I never had, and the opportunity to grow into the kind of man he chooses to be. And I will oppose with everything I have any son of a bitch that turns it into a sound bite for votes or a power grab for bigger government, or a chance to get a personal agenda rammed through out of fear and the passion of the moment.
Thank you for your time.