Alternately titled: The Hill I Chose to NOT Die On: Gun Control
Alternatelyly titled: I have a boy, and sticks and stones may break my bones, and other creative uses…
Alternativelylyly titled: Give a kid a fish duct tape, a toilet paper tube and freedom to collect sticks in the yard with his buddies, he might make a gun…
I have a boy.
All the hasty generalizations one might make about boys… that’s my boy.
Aaaaand he’s my firstborn…
When I was a freshman new mom, I was committed. NO GUNS.
Ever.
No finger guns, no stick guns, no race car guns, no Mr. Potato Head arms-guns… and certainly no dinosaur tail guns!
Do you see where I am going with this?
One fateful day… when my son was, oh… say TWO… he sat at the kitchen table. The noises he made — artillery. Blasts. And some dino growls.
“Joel. Let’s not play guns. Eat your lunch.”
And then I looked. Had I an iPhone back in early 2001… not only would I have a picture to share, but I’d also have Instagrammed the heck out of it. BUT.
My son…
From his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
I repeat: HIS PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICH
He had eaten around the crusts.
He was meticulous.
Precise.
He had eaten that sandwich into the shape of a gun.
On that day… in that moment… I threw up my hands and said “I give up.”
And when I say I’m gonna do something, you better believe I do.
Oh did I ever give up!
And now I ask… How about you? What has made you throw up your hands and “give up”? Before I was a parent, I was the BEST parent. How were you a better parent before you became one?
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