In the comfort of my kitchen, surrounded by my four children, a sense of relief washes over me as my older three return home from school. However, my peace is shattered when I hear the news of a shooting at a facility for individuals with developmental disabilities in San Bernardino. My youngest is on the floor, blissfully engaged with her Little People Nativity Set, the donkey now glistening with her drool.
Though I maintain a cheerful demeanor while distributing after-school snacks, I can’t help but wonder about their future. Will my children reach adulthood? Will I witness their growth? Perhaps they’ll make it to college, only to be victims of another troubled individual who feels compelled to take others down with him. I’ve enjoyed a fulfilling life, and I understand that children can move on after losing a parent—I experienced this myself. I’ve outlived my mother by two years. If tragedy were to strike me at a mall, a store, a church, or a concert, I know they would eventually be okay. This grim knowledge is often what propels me to leave the house.
I grew up in a vastly different era. I rode in the front seat of cars, perched on the armrest while my uncle, after a few drinks, navigated the roads. I skated without a helmet and inhaled secondhand smoke by the bucketful. I spent hours away from home with no means to contact my parents if something went wrong.
My children’s car seats, however, are engineered to withstand anything. They’ve likely never witnessed a cigarette, and they resemble a safety advertisement when they ride their bicycles, with me supervising from just a few feet away. I’ve only recently begun to allow my oldest some independence, letting her be out of sight for brief moments.
Yet, all my precautions seem futile against the backdrop of a society where gunfire is a daily occurrence. Security measures, checkpoints, and surveillance cameras cannot change the reality: armed individuals are still penetrating our safety nets. The threats are numerous and varied, from those wielding guns to those planting explosives or hijacking planes.
I find myself without clear answers. The men in power on my television screen repeat their mantras, insisting that guns are not the issue, but they seem perplexed about what the real problem is if not firearms. Some attribute the violence to religion, others to drugs, while a few suggest I should fear the government more.
But my fears don’t lie with the government. Perhaps I’m oversimplifying, but my anxiety centers on the weapons. I fear the individuals with guns, bombs, and planes. I’m troubled by the notion that the solution is to increase access to firearms rather than reduce it. I seek clarity—someone needs to articulate the rationale behind this perspective.
As I watch my baby crawl towards me, eagerly offering the angel figure from her Nativity set, I can’t help but smile at her innocence. She is unaware of the dangers posed by men with weapons, and I grapple with how to shield her from such knowledge.
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In summary, the article tackles the unsettling reality of living in a society where gun violence has become commonplace, leaving parents in a state of anxiety about their children’s safety. It reflects on the stark contrast between past and present parenting experiences and questions the societal priorities regarding firearms and public safety.
Keyphrase: Guns vs. Children’s Safety
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