I have an admission story.

I grew up in a family and a supportive culture that did not involve a fascination or a need to have guns. But my small developing soul was drawn to play with cap guns, chaps and a straw cowboy hat; like most of the young boys my age. Bang!!!

The theatrical thrill of my well executed pretend dead falls, were as good in my mind, as any stuntman’s work in Gunsmoke, Roy Rogers (you name the spaghetti western) or the early 60s war show Combat. Later, in early Middle School years, an excitement for sneaking around the early evening edges of Capture the Flag and GI Joe reenactment scenarios, would plant a seed for me to dream of becoming a Green Beret soldier. Bang!!

Though in high school I had given up my holster, I continued to hold on to ennobled thoughts of fighting for my country, and playing in sneaky shadows with a rifle. But my best friend in college had just returned from combat in Vietnam, and his late night stories about the reality of war were chilling.

I became a viscerally passionate Vietnam protester. These “Fog of War” stories had destroyed any sensibilities I may have had about the rush of holding a dangerous weapon. Any possible interest I had in killing deer or repeating the trauma I had felt as eleven year old after shooting a bird in a tree with a BB gun, would disappear. I still remember the feeling I had walking up to the small beautiful robin on the ground with a hole in its’ head…and the blood.

After many years of marriage, kids and work, I possessed no firearms and gave no thought to what had happened to the double barreled shotgun my father had let me shoot a few unmemorable times in childhood. Bang Bang!!

But a few weeks after moving into the house my wife and I bought 12 years ago, she walked into the room holding a Colt 45 pistol by its’ butt. She wore a horrified expression that said, “wtf”. The gun was still in the stylish, almost Cow-boyish, leather holster that probably gave much pleasure to the previous owner who had sadly left his prized firearm on a shelf in our bedroom.

An odd rush of fascination returned to my psyche. It was a surprising return to the child-like excitement and adrenalin rush that holding an instrument of destruction elicits within the unthinking, primal, American male sense of power and confused protectionism.

I realized I had not confronted my own cultural conversation about our diverse gun language, and the consequences to our society. A trip to the local Gun Mega Mart led me to an ex-FBI guy behind the counter, and his explanation of why I did not need a 45 caliber pistol to indulge my dive into the understanding of any conversation about guns. The ammunition was just too expensive for target shooting.

In search of any actual empathy and understanding of the American armament dialog, I exchanged the Colt 45 for a more manageable Smith and Wesson 9mm. The experiment began with my feet apart, my ear protection and no training. Next, I felt the power of my first firing range trigger pull. This left my thumb, appropriately and profusely, bleeding as a result of poor hand placement. WTF….Bang!!!

I began to remember strange encounters I had had with people and guns. Never having been robbed at gun-point or threatened in any way in combat, all I had were small encounters like the one with my late shift motel front desk partner. She was a sweet middle aged bee-hive person. She showed me a small purse revolver that she said she would use to shoot anyone who approached her vehicle window upon leaving work late at night…point blank…no questions. And there was also a recent show and tell of a gun safe preformed by a friend that I greatly respect. It included every firearm from a shotgun, hunting rifles, military tools and a collection of hand guns that would make any pistol historian proud. These were confusing encounters.

I was experiencing a new abhorrence and fear of todays frightening gun culture.

After watching the sadly typical news coverage from Texas of the President, tearful media anchors and even an angry basketball coach at his press conference all expressing outrage at the evil in Uvalde,  there was an impassioned Senator asking his colleges “What are we doing?” I was left with a deep empty feeling of Hopelessness and anger that we might not be able to do anything meaningful anytime soon.

The writing of this piece and the revisitation of my own experience leaves me with empathy for our human condition, but make me angry at those who immorally exchange courage for power.

As Senator Chris Murphy said yesterday, “What are we doing?”

For the sake of our kids in school, shoppers or worshippers….I Hope something!

Just not Bang Bang