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Christi Diggs
on May 23 2013 - 06:00 AM
A drop of spin, a cup of deception and tsp. politics=Apathy
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Lindsay Metcalf
on May 22 2013 - 06:00 AM
When that tornado siren sounds, I'm in the basement
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mara williams
on May 21 2013 - 06:00 AM
Summer break has this mom on a house upkeep war path.
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"MY son will NEVER shoot a gun," I said. "Not while I'm in charge."
Ooh, I do not like guns. I don't like shooty things of any kind. I just don't. It's difficult for me to explain it. I guess I just believe that guns are tools that serve only one purpose: to kill things. When Marc was small, I would never let him have weapons of any kind. I wanted him to be a pacifist, like me. Weapons are not peaceful.
Then came the Lightsabers. Oh, they are so cool! Some light up, and some make noises. I justified this by saying that Lightsabers are fictional. But then he wanted a toy sword. How could I let him have a Lightsaber and not a toy sword? How? I couldn't be a hypocrite. And, of course, when he was 10, I finally allowed a shooting toy in this house.
His first bow and arrow.
Again, I justified it. He was pretending to be Robin Hood. He was pretending to be Link from the Zelda games. It was pretend. He had absolutely no intention of hurting anyone. And we have rules surrounding this. He can't use any of these weapons on a person, not even the swords. He's not even allowed to point his finger and shoot at a living thing. It has to be inanimate objects, or the air. And, of course, toy guns have come into the picture. The rules are the same: no pointing at animals, including humans. I don't care if they don't actually shoot anything.
Also, they don't actually shoot anything. Toy guns are just toys. It's justified, right? Except for the rubber band gun on got for him at Maker Faire. And the nerf gun. Come to think of it, he's had an increasing interest in things that shoot over the past few weeks.
Well, the other day, I sat down at the bottom of the slope I had slipped down and looked up at the top. One of Marc's best friends was having a birthday party. The party was at Jaeger's. For paintball. I looked up at the top of that slippery slope and saw Val from ten years ago, scowling and wagging her finger in disapproval.
But I had to let him go. You can see that I had to, right? It was one of his besties. He's known this kid since preschool. Other kids would be there. An adult would be there. And I trusted this particular set of parents. They've never let me down. It was time to stop babying him.
Except... he's just a baby! He's a wittle child! And he's going to be breaking my rule of not shooting a people! What have I gotten him into?
"Mom, I'll be fine," he said to me in the car after I gave him my list of personal rules. Be careful. Stop if it gets to be too much. Understand that it might hurt. Do everything the adult-in-charge says. Call me if you want me to get you early. Don't grow up to be one of those people who's obsessed with guns and stockpiles them in the basement next to some pallets of canned goods because you think the government is going to collapse and there'll be anarchy.
Mom. I'll be fine. It's what he said to me. I signed the waiver, kissed him six or seven times, and left.
When I came to pick him up, I was told that the last round was a little rough. Some awful bully came in and started shooting rapidly at the boys' legs and wouldn't stop. The referree had to stop the round. Marc ran up to me and hugged me, crying. He was scared and his legs hurt, and he wanted to go home.
On the drive home, I got more and more mad. "I'm calling Jaeger's," I told my husband, "and I'm gonna make them give me that kid's mom's number!"
"And do what?" he asked.
"Make that kid apologize!" Ridiculous, of course. I didn't do it. The kid got kicked out of Jaeger's and I'm sure they called his parents.
Marc went up for a shower later. We found several bruises on his legs. Some were doozies. "I don't think I want to play paintball anymore," he told me. "I don't want to play with mean kids like that."
"You know, Marc," I said. "Just because one kid who plays paintball is mean doesn't mean all the kids who play are mean."
"I just don't want to play again." End of story.
My poor baby! See, this is what happens when you let your little baby shoot guns! He got hurt! He got hurt real bad! Although, on the other hand because there's always another hand, he did have a lot of fun. I mean, before the big jerk came in. He got to do something that he never thought I'd let him do. And he learned that not everyone plays by the rules, and you just have to get over it.
Yesterday I was driving Marc to school. "You know what, Mom?" he said. "I think I actually want to play paintball again."
"Oh yeah?" I said. "I thought you were just sticking with lazer tag?"
"Yeah, but I think I would play paintball again. You know, not every kid is mean just because that one kid was."
Excuse me? Um, since when do my kids listen to what I say? Wow.
So will I let him play again? Of course, if he wants to. He can play a game like paintball and still be a pacifist. I don't like guns. I don't like shooting. But the point has changed. It's no longer that I don't want him to shoot things. It's that I don't want him to be a violent person. I highly doubt Marc would become a violent person. He had fun. He learned some lessons. I learned some, too.
Have you ever let one of your kids do something you never thought you'd let them do? I really surprised myself with this one. But it all worked out in the end!
Hey, Val, don't worry. We have a mobile laser tag business & my 2 kids are not obsessed with real guns - they look at laser tag as fun. My daughter wants to try paintball. I told her that it was fine with me, but I was not participating.Both Hubby and I grew up with guns in our homes (military, hunting fathers) but we didn't want to have them in the home we were raising our children. However, today as adults , two of the three (maybe the third one too, I don't know what her new husband brought to the marriage) own guns and enjoy going to the shooting range. I don't get it, but they took classes and have fun with their friends.
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