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Why I Will Never Own A Gun

I could probably list two hundred reasons.  I could start with the fact that I am confident in my own abilities to defend myself and my property that I don't need one.  I could also state that I don't own anything that is valuable enough to shoot someone over.  I could state that while I am a cynic and a realist, I do not feel my life will be at risk any time soon.  I could tell of how my mother would write on my birthday party invitations "No toy guns, please."  I could tell of my cousin killing himself.  I could tell you about being jumped by some kids with a gun, only to luckily find out I knew them and it was a case of mistaken identity. I could tell of my friend getting his eye shot out by a ricocheting bullet while sitting in the middle of a lake fishing.  I could tell of my friend getting shot in the head (and thankfully living) by drug dealers.  Or I could simply tell you that I've been crying for five days because some kids and teachers I never knew were killed because of a man with a gun.  No, I'm going to tell you why and it's personal.  It oddly enough is a story that contains no violence and there were no guns involved.  

It was over 20 years ago.  It was a Saturday afternoon and I was lounging around watching some TV or playing video games.  My brother was about ten and was down in the park playing with his friends. I hear the door open and he comes into my bedroom.  His friend is standing behind him and he looked concerned.  My brother walks over and says "Jona, there is a strange guy in the park asking some of the kids if they want to be in a movie or have their picture taken." I jumped up, grabbed a baseball bat and flew down the seven flights of stairs and out the door.  My brother and his friend were behind me and I yelled to them to tell some of the other parents in the park.  As I entered the park the guy saw me and took off.  I chased him for nearly a mile and a half, but he had too much of a head start for me to catch him. I was incensed.  I don't know what I would have done had I caught him, but I know it would have been bad.  My anger was incredible and   the rage I felt was uncontrollable.  The man had messed not only with my brother and his friends, but with the  sanctity of our little community.  I walked jogged back home and some parents had come down and were asking me what happened and what he looked like. I never saw his face, so I couldn't tell and in my rage, I honestly couldn't recall what he was wearing. I told the kids if they ever saw him again to get an adult immediately.  I don't know if anyone had called the police, but I knew I didn't want to explain why I did what I did.

So what does this have to do with guns?  During the course of my chase, my anger grew.  Thoughts of this sick bastard doing whatever he wanted to do or had done before got to me.  In the time I was chasing him I never got closer than 150-200 feet from him. I do know this.  At that very moment, I wanted to kill him.  Had I had a gun I would have shot him.  Had he had a gun, he most likely would have shot me.  Either way, someone would have died or been very badly hurt and the other would have claimed self defense.  As the years have gone by and I think about that day, I'm glad I didn't catch him.  I know that my actions, no matter how I view them as noble or protective would have resulted in a bad ending for me.  Would hurting this human being have made me feel better?  Of course, for the moment it would, but would killing him would have changed two families lives forever.  I can only hope that his fear might have changed his choices in life.  I will never know.  What I do know is that for everyone who says "guns don't kill people, people kill people," not having a gun probably saved that man's life and in many ways saved mine.

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