So guns are something people love or hate and fear discussing either way. Wonder what I’ll talk about tomorrow? I’ve already done religion and the school system is an ongoing source of discussion but what would be a fun topic for Friday?

Guns - I begin with a disclaimer that I have lived almost my entire life in the South and really don’t know enough about lifestyles in the rest of America. I believe with all my heart that I and my household are the only people in my entire family who are not armed. Not just armed, but heavily armed. My parents have their own guns as well as those handed down from their parents and their parents before them. Most of the females in my family carry delicate little weapons of death in their purses. Many of the cars owned by my extended family have a gun tucked away so that the driver can quickly access it. I have no guns and although I am intelligent enough not to say that I will never have a gun, I can say that right now I hate the idea of living with guns. My father likes to pull a gun or two out and show them to the children as he cleans them. He lectures them about safety and responsibility the entire time. Against my specific wishes (”I don’t want you to do that Dad”), my father bought a BB gun for the children to have target practice when they are at his house. Ted Nugent would be very proud of my father. I think that it just makes guns seem desirable while my father proclaims that it takes away the novelty of a gun. At some point I will allow them to go to a shooting range and fire a rifle. I want them to feel how long that ache stays in your shoulder after you have pulled the trigger. I want them to see how easy it is not to reach your intended target. When the topic of guns comes up I ALWAYS say that guns are intended for killing. They are not for protection or safety or whatever cute little expression people use to justify them. Guns are for killing and in one second of thoughtlessness or anger people do things that they can never take back. Guns are like suicide, permanent solutions to temporary problems.

A student took a gun to Tommy’s school today. I know it happens a lot more than I’d like to know and that usually nothing happens. This time something did happen. It happened over spitting kool-aid. All I can think about is how Tommy carelessly annoying the wrong student could have devastating results. Tommy doesn’t think before he acts. He just does whatever pops in his head. Tommy is a danger to himself. These are the times when I want to lock the doors and hide.

Update: today’s newspaper coverage

Sometimes I feel like this. . . 

. . . but I know I should feel like this instead.

Is Helen getting ready for a show? I know Florida is tired of all the attention they’ve been getting lately.

Apparently five days without clean laundry is this family’s limit. Although Sarah could go another week without clean clothes, the rest of us need clean things, especially Tommy and I who are completely out of long pants/jeans to wear. I’m going to visit the nearby laundromat and learn how Amy acts in a laundromat. Should be fun, not.

I’ll be very happy when Doug gets over this nervous breakdown so I can have my funny, sweet, thoughtful, happy husband back.

The local newspaper is collecting stories from WWII veterans, Hollywood is cranking out spiffy war movies and the history channel keeps showing programs about war. I know what they’re doing and I know why they’re doing it. That doesn’t make it any less creepy. Still, it all makes me think about my grandfather. My grandfather isn’t around anymore so he won’t be available for an interview. You couldn’t have gotten an interview from him when he was alive anyway. Although a career Navy man who lied about his age to join at the start of World War II, he told almost nothing about his work, his experiences or his feelings. It must have meant something or he wouldn’t have stayed in the military until his retirement. I know that after he died my mother found a box full of medals and old uniform buttons. I know from his records that he spent most of his life on enormous ships working in the medical department. From that I can imagine that his stories were just too cold and cruel to repeat. I can only tell one story about his war experiences because it is the only one he ever told me. My grandmother was showing some demitasse spoons to me and explained that they came from Hitler’s home. I looked at her sort of funny and my grandfather piped up and told the story, with absolutely no details or elaboration so I apologize for the absurdity of it. There was no fighting, only massive looting when all the men took turns leaving the ship to explore what they knew was a historical site. My grandfather (who was a very practical man) grabbed all of the silverware before they were rushed back to the ship. On the long journey back to California the looting continued until all that my grandfather held were a set of delicate silver demitasse spoons. My mother has the spoons now. She has no plans for them. It’s not the sort of thing that you put on display. It would be wrong to casually auction them off on Ebay. So, they are wrapped in cloth and stored in an old shoebox waiting to be pulled out and shown to the next generation of grandchildren. That is our family’s war story. What is YOUR family’s story?