Playing with Guns: Parenting in the Age of the Active Shooter
The first time I hold a gun I am 3 years old. We are visiting my father’s business partner. My dad is getting into strawberries, which means he’s getting into the drugs he can hide in the strawberry truck. In the living room, I slip my chubby 3-year-old hand between the cushions of the brown furry couch and pull out the gun. It’s heavy, but not cold, in my hand. I turn around and squeal, “Treasure!”
“Bring it to me, Sara,” my mother’s steady voice requests. And I do. I don’t throw the loaded gun. I don’t fire it accidentally. I toddle over and hand it gently to my mother.
