No More Guns

You'll shoot your eye out kid! A true story.

We aimed our brand new guns at the wall, Paul and I.
They were bright orange with white handles, probably

so people wouldn’t think it was real if I pointed it at them
I thought. They came with little brass balls. B-B’s Dad

called them. It took months for the three of us to convince
Mom it was ok. I had asked Dad for help, and he said

he would do his best. And it worked! The weeks and weeks
of bringing it up at dinner. You know Mom, John Taylor got

his gun last Christmas, and he hasn’t hurt himself yet. All
Mom would ever do is roll her eyes. Anytime Mom and

Dad were alone in their room, Paul and I would listen at
the door hoping that we would here them talking about it.

We never did and one time Dad caught us and got really mad.
But one day when we came home from school, Mom said

Come on, let’s go get those guns. I never thought I would
hear those words come out of her mouth. What had changed

her mind? I didn’t really care, I just wanted to get to the toy
store as fast as possible. When we got home, Dad was

waiting for us with a big smile on his face. He scooped us
both up and took us outside to show us how to load and

shoot. Paul took aim first. He was younger, but I didn’t mind
letting him go first; I would get my chance soon enough.

In our backyard, there were three big pine trees. They all grew
at 45 degree angles and were perfect for climbing. We also had a

swing set and behind that, a big cinder block wall seperating
us from the annoying neighbor kid. Dad had set up the little

Target that came with the guns. Alright Paulie, just point the
gun at the target. Get the bulls eye in your sights and shoot.

I don’t know why he ever thought that a six year old could hit that
little target. Paul pulled the trigger and instantly fell over crying.

Dad rolled him over and saw that he had a little red mark right above
his eyebrow. I never even got to shoot my gun.