I don't like to get too political when I write, most of the time, anyway. I
try to stay in centerfield. One thing I don't agree with most of the male
members in my family is about guns. I hate them. I know that if you like
them, you have the right to bear arms. For whatever reason you may have,
whether it be protection, to hunt, or to intimidate.
So this is why I am for gun control. When I was around 11 or 12, I
was accidentally shot in the head by my brother. Now a bunch of you
are probably thinking..."no wonder."
But let me tell you the story.
We used to go touristing in the Black Hills when I was younger. Back
then, it wasn't the "hole tribe," (I will tell you about the "hole
tribe" after this.) It was just my step-dad, mother, brother and I.
We was at this place where you could take old time photo's. My
brother and step-dad grabbed fringed leather jackets and guns right
off the bat. I didn't want to tell them they looked more like Daniel
Boone than they did warriors, if I remember right, my brother might
have even had a racoon tail cap on. I didn't tell them because I was
doing my best impersonation of Laura Ingalls, and they would have said
I was hanging around the fort. I won't tell you what my mom was
wearing, but she looked like the type that you would see hanging out
in Deadwood back in the day, if you know what I mean.
Anyway as we was waiting for our picture, my brother and I started
looking at the props. I was standing there looking at the guns with
him, although they were not fascinating at all to me. My brother
Travis was touching them as if they were made of gold. Finally, he
found one that spoke to him. He pulled it off the wall and looked at
it over and over. He put it up to the side of my head. I was
obvlious to him because I was used to him shooting me with his toy
guns. I started to yawn at the same time as he pulled the trigger.
It was loud. I dropped, every customer in the store ducked, my mom
screamed and my step dad jumped on Travis and pulled the gun away.
"JESUS!" the photographer screamed.
I put my hands to my head to hold my brains and blood and skull
together. I was rolling side to side when I realized there was no
hole in my head. Although I was still crying, I was amazed that some
holy intervention had saved me. My mom ran over and checked my head
for holes, looking through my hair as if the bullet was hiding.
The photographer came running over blabbering "I am so sorry about
that folks, thats one of the guns we use for the mock shoot-out we
have every hour, it was loaded with blanks, and I never thought anyone
would shoot someone....here your picture is done, no charge."
We walked out of that gallery with everyone staring at us, me
sniffling and traumatized, and my brother punished again.
So even though it had blanks in it, blanks have killed some movie
stars in the past. I am lucky to have a hard skull. But, this is why
I hate guns.
*The "hole tribe" is what we call us seven siblings. It was derived
from a surprise birthday party I threw for my mom and we all didn't
have time to sign the card. I told my sister Jaida to sign it the
whole tribe and when my mom read it, it said the "hole tribe."