This Story Didn’t Start With Guns.
The Virginia Tech shooting brought me to tears in front of my children. Dylan was six when he asked from the back seat, “What’s wrong, Mommy?”
Using my best little-kid vocabulary, I explained to my babies that someone else’s babies had been killed. And they wanted to know, just like all of us do: Why?
What bothers me today is that I did not cry for the victims in Texas, Buffalo, Milwaukee. I have reached the point of numbness. I can no longer properly process the tragedies; I want to pretend they’re not still happening.
But they’re real.
I hate guns; I see no need for violence, ever. I don’t believe in purposeful hurt. But I don’t think we’re having the right discussions right now. This story didn’t start with guns. It started with a person who decided that it’s perfectly okay to go out and slaughter defenseless strangers for no apparent reason.
Our society promotes violence. Violence draws attention. It gets ratings. Violence is everywhere: movies, books, TV, news. Destruction and death … sell. For many, violence dwells – even thrives – in the community.
And how do we raise our kids? We throw them in front of a TV or a computer as soon as they’re able to sit up without assistance. We use screens as a babysitter; we use video games as a reward. Video games are rife with gun violence – kids grow up immune to it. (Or do they?) And parents ignore the warnings on the labels, paying little attention to what their kids watch or do. By middle school, even good parents trade in time with their kids for screen time because they’re tired of actually parenting. They don’t want to be bothered by those incessant questions.
I lived for those questions. I loved answering whatever my kids asked, because it helped me to make sense of the world myself – and it helped me to get to know my kids a little better. And when they reached their preteen years and started questioning the existence of God, I allowed them to question. I gave them my perspective; I told them what I know and what I believe. And they found their own answers.
But some kids are ignored. They form their own answers amidst violence, negativity and destruction. Their parents are bullies, predators, alcoholics, gamblers, addicts and abusers. Thousands, if not millions of kids flail unprotected because there is nowhere for them to turn for help.
Time passes; these kids grow up.
There’s only so much that can be handled by volunteers – who are just people – answering phones for the Suicide Prevention Hotline. To say that we need a Homicide Prevention Hotline would be an understatement. But the government agencies put into place to help people who really need help and can’t afford it…? They are mired in paperwork, understaffed, and helping few.
People are hurting. They are screaming for help. They are begging – starting at a very young age – to be loved, nurtured, protected, saved. And teachers can’t always be saviors.
There’s no one to trust; no one to tell them that it’s going to be okay. So after years of believing that it’s not going to be okay, believing there’s nowhere else to turn, they pick up a gun and start shooting.
Yes, we need to do more to stop gun violence. But we need to do more to save the shooters before they become shooters. Mass shootings won’t stop no matter how loudly we argue about gun laws.
Shootings will stop when love overrides fear. It’s literally that simple.