We live in turbulent times. If you are a history buff, you might also know that the last 2000 or so years can all rightfully claim to be “turbulent” times. I know when the Y2K panic was in full swing, I took a look at the events that were happening world-wide as 1899 became 1900. There weren’t any computer issues to worry about in those days, but there were plenty of wars, conflicts, and nasty things happening all over. Somehow that gave me comfort to think we might just be okay when the world moved into the 21st century.
Here’s a scary statistic I read recently. In our country there are more than 30,000 people killed each year from guns. Well, to be accurate, from people shooting guns. That’s about 85 people a day.
I am a steadfast believer in our Constitution and I know that the right to bear arms is a pivotal part of the Bill of Rights. I’m pretty sure the designers of that document believed deeply that we needed to be able to protect ourselves, as a nation, from any form of intrusion or takeover.
Being a pacifist, I rather support the notion that this doesn’t mean we should all carry guns like in the wild west so we can whip out a firearm and shoot someone upsets us.
So being a patriot, but also a pacifist, I’ve struggled with where I stand on “gun control.” For me, the ultimate weapon is my hairbrush.
I was a city girl whose husband moved her to the country many decades ago. When we were first married, I could sleep through ambulances, fire trucks, and busses running down our street. In the country, I awoke at every strange sound – chipmunks on the roof, the furnace clicking, and in one memorable incident, the geese waddling outside our window. I would poke my husband in the ribs and make him get up and investigate these strange sounds. He was (and is) a sweetheart and groggily searched out the source to reassure me. (I’m not sure what he would have done with an intruder, half asleep and in his pajamas, but he didn’t appear to worry about that).
One night, he, too thought the sound in the basement was odd. So he left the security of our bedroom to see. I worried that he would be overtaken and I quickly snatched up my hairbrush and hid behind our bedroom door. My logic was impeccable. When the intruder marched my husband back in the room at gun or knife-point, I would strike him forcibly on the bridge of the nose with the stiff-bristled weapon. Then Matt could remove his weapon and all would be well.
Matt returned to the bedroom to find the bed empty and for an instant thought there had been an intruder and I had been taken! He was relieved to find me safe behind the door, but seemed to find my choice of weapon hilarious. Even now, years and years later, he makes a little bit of fun about my hairbrush arsenal. But honestly, that would really hurt, right? Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Sue is a retired public servant who volunteers at a local elementary school and Hospice and keeps busy taking care of house, husband, son, and pets. She lives just outside of Troy, Ohio.