When I Got Shot

When I was about 13 years old my father went through the “Father & Son” bonding phase, a well intentioned moment in which he chose to establish a closer relationship with me. Although he could have easily fulfilled this assignment by kicking around a soccer ball or watching my rugby games, he chose to buy two rifles (FN, 303) and a pistol (40 caliber); and so every other Sunday for the next two months my dad & two of his brothers would round up their sons and go hunting at my uncle’s farm while in direct violation of our mothers’ protests. In retrospect, apart from a more diverse meat diet, this was arguably one of the most futile, uncreative and unproductive moments I ever spent with my dad.

I’ve had friends who’ve shot at people, friends with bullet wounds that tell a tale of survival in the villages of Rwanda, Somalia and Congo during times of war, a time in which your life was decided in a split second by the flick of a finger placed on a trigger; friends who’ve watched their loved ones crumble before their eyes and sink into a pool of crimson. I have friends who’ve been shot at; innocent bystanders startled by the sudden crack of exploding gunpowder as the hammer slams against the cartridge; they hid behind parked cars as bullets ricocheted off of street signs & tarred pavements. And I have friends who’ve shot themselves; we studied for our Architecture final one evening and the next day he drove a couple of miles out of town and put a bullet through his head a week before he was supposed to graduate with a Masters in Architecture.

And so unlike my other notes, I’ve decided not to make a point or come to some conclusion powered by an intellectual twist; I write this instead because I’ve been metaphorically shot, not once, not twice, but many times by the pain & agony in my life and in those of others as they reflected on the heart wrenching tragedies brought upon them by an addictive & flawed ‘Gun Culture’ ; Virginia Tech, Columbine, Child Soldiers, Drive-By Shootings, Suicides, Crimes of Passion, Sean Bell, Cop Shooting, list goes on; I have shared a few of many experiences, experiences I doubt are unique to myself but have been present in the lives of many of us at one point or another, either as bystanders or victims; I share in the hopes that we debate this somewhat awkward and often flawed American & Global Gun Culture.

Sincerely yours,
Kwapi

PS: Although I doubt I will ever feel the need to own one, guns don't necessarily bother me, its some of these Idiots that carry them that irk me; the lack of appreciation for a life and the insensitivity to the fact that they will bring heartbreak to a mother, a son, a father, daughter, a lover or a friend makes them feeble human beings in my eyes; no better than a pink bottomed baboon.