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Guns Will Not Save Us

I was 14 years old the first time I held a gun.

My parents had recently divulged that they owned not one, but two, 9 mm semi-automatic handguns. The thought of guns in my house was scary, even if they were kept in small lock boxes, stashed far in the back of my parent’s closet. It occurred to me that even if you have a gun, anyone could find it or take it from you and use it.  

Perhaps for that reason, my parents insisted on enrolling me in a “gun safety class.”

The class was run by a friend of my grandfather’s, a large, gruff, Irish-Catholic retired Marine named Mike. To my surprise, a large portion of the class was dedicated to learning strategies to avoid firing a gun. Mike said sternly throughout the day, “do not hold a firearm unless you intend to fire it.” Read more.