I arrived home Sunday evening, after being out for most of the day, doing several fun things (a 100k team effort row/bike at my gym for the birthday of the fantastical Patrick Donohue of Pat Does Words (check it out. And SUBSCRIBE. You won’t regret it!), and then a birthday food fest for the same aforementioned birthday human. The moon glowed bright and round and low, and after I parked my car, I walked to the end of my driveway to try to take a picture of the moon and clouds and bare tree branches (Reader, like a great many camera moonshots, it did not pan out). A truck drove past, and slowed down, and I wasn’t sure who was sketchier: the truck, or me, standing in the middle of the street, taking pictures of the moon. So I went inside, and fed my dog and cats, who were chaotically running around the kitchen with starvation (it was one hour past dinner time). I took off my earrings, and my shockingly bright orange hoodie, and grabbed a Bubbly from the fridge. I stood by the kitchen counter and pulled out my phone. Instagram. Facebook. Notifications. Ah, my neighborhood association, where someone asked the age old question: Gunshots or fireworks?
As I scrolled through the post, the answer, it seemed was gunshots. A full clip, in fact, from the accounts of people who counted the shots. The location was not just my street, but very, very close to my house. And the time, by my math, meant the gunshots occurred just before I pulled in my driveway and ran out into the street to take pictures of the moon.
I tried not think of the sketchy truck, which, in all likelihood, was a neighbor driving by to see what had happened.
I checked all of my doors.
I want to take a moment, Reader, to explain what this looks like for me. I check the front door, to make sure it’s locked, by twisting the lock to the locked position three times. I check the carport door in the same way. The back door. Then the basement door, which is not an exterior door, so it gets one twist. Then I circle back to the front door. Carport door. Back door. Basement door. This is not OCD. This is an anxiety trauma response that I do without thinking when I feel unsafe. I’m a door checker. I’ve had times in my life where my door checking compulsion was so great that I’ve gotten out of bed, repeatedly, to check and re-check doors.
After I checked the doors, I then walked through my house looking for bullet holes, remembering the time my brother’s house was shot up in a drive by shooting. My dog started barking. I went and checked the doors again.
And here, Reader, somewhere between where I’m checking the house and the doors, this is the moment when I wonder if the reason that someone emptied a clip near my house is because my brother, my violent, mentally unstable, gun-carrying brother, has come to my house to carry out his threats.
Or rather, it’s the moment when I realize that’s what I’m fearing, because the door checking started the moment I felt unsafe.
And while I realize that not everyone has a brother like mine, or has someone who possesses both firearms and a vendetta in their lives, but those people, whether or not you’re related to them, are out there. Someone evidently fired a clip into my neighborhood tonight, a few minutes before I stood out in the street to take a picture of the moon. Hardly responsible gun ownership.
At the university, where I work, shootings at the gas station near campus became so commonplace over the last several months that my university, through several talks with the gas station chain CEO, had the gas station closed. They did not, chickenshit administrators that they are, advocate for gun control, or banning guns on campus, or anything that addressed the actual problem (Psssst. It’s guns.) They instead chose the path that blamed literally anything other than the guns themselves.
Gun control is not a bad thing. Some people should not be allowed to carry guns. Some people are not responsible. Or safe. And taking measures to ensure that people who should not care guns should not, in fact, carry guns, is not an infringement on civil liberties. It is a measure that ensures that everyone’s basic right to life and happiness remains intact.
I would propose the following regulations, if I were able to do so:
Certain guns should be completely banned. Assault rifles are unnecessary. Period.
Every gun you own should be registered. You should be required to complete a gun safety course EVERY YEAR that a gun is resisted in your name. (I have to take cyber security training every year because I work with confidential data. This isn’t hard. It’s part of the responsibilities I assumed with my job.)
Hunters should have a separate hunting license, and certain guns should be allowed for hunters and sportsman that allow them to enjoy their sports. I don’t know enough about these sports, but I’m certain they have specialized rifles and scopes. They should be able to enjoy them.
Your right to own a gun can be suspended or revoked for any of the following charges and convictions: sexual assault, domestic violence, robbery, theft, threats of violence against another, battery, hate crimes, and the like. If you commit a crime with a gun, your right to own a gun is revoked for life.
You must undergo a mental health evaluation when you apply for your gun license, and you must renew your license every three years.
Honestly, I don’t think most of these are that hard. But the absolute refusal to entertain gun control is the exact sort of behavior that should disqualify someone from owning a gun. If it’s really about safety, and protection, why are certain weapons illegal but guns are everywhere?
I realize, Reader, that I’ve gone off on a bit of a tangent, but I’m tired of feeling unsafe, and sometimes being unsafe. It’s exhausting. And I think we’re all tired. And I think we all deserve better.
I am so tired, in fact, that I stopped writing and picked up my phone to scroll social media, and reset my brain a little, and up pops video footage of a car shootout on I-285 this evening, in my county.
Enough is enough. It’s time for gun control.
I'm here for it! #VickieForPresident
(((((HUGS))))) ❤️