The debate over gun control is nothing new. The persistence of the Second Amendment, from back before there were real cowboys and indians, affirms the excessive ideological Viagra-Oxycontin titration in the national politic. Governed from the extremes, reasonable firearms control seems to defy finding compromise that works. We’ve become a global bad joke.
The maternal adage of “It’s all fun until someone gets hurt” outlived my mother, and will outlast yours, if you are fortunate to still have her around. The Newtown massacre murdered six women educators and twenty six-and-seven-year-old children. It’s a tragic wake up call, with the “more guns” ilk alternating between frothing at the mouth or ducking for cover. Your hokey “firearms freedoms” weren’t worth a single tyke’s life.
The paranoids used to proudly call themselves a “militia,” at least until the looniest who “freed” themselves of the civilized bounds of a modern society attracted too much interest from law enforcement. A few states have recently inaugurated state “militias” of folks who are often too old and out of shape to meet minimum military fitness standards. Think potluck Crock Pot weekend dinners in camouflage.
There was once a toy called “Jarts.” I can only imagine the extra gray hairs and wrinkles in moms then, as mass-marketed “family fun” of hurling pointy missiles at your little sister filled the broadcast hours watched by children. You won’t find a new set of “steel-tipped lawn darts” hawked in the toy department of the same Walmart where one can buy all the cheap beer and ammo you desire. What happened to your “Jarts freedom?” Banned in the Reagan Administration. It went the same way as your “liberty” to buy your grandchild the same crib you were incarcerated in, the ones with wooden slats wee heads amazingly got stuck in for family tragedies. Dangerous products were regulated out. There isn’t a snake oil display at your local Walgreens.
Your “freedom,” bellowed these days as if you need a stool softener to relieve lower abdominal agony from your inner Ayn Rand, is NOT absolute. You do not have the “liberty” to set a land speed record on the streets of your town.
You may be told you can “have it your way” at the Burger King, but they want you to at least wear clothes. There are compromises we all make to coexist in a free society. “Freedom” is not “in peril.”
There’s a surfeit of lunacy and a dearth of common sense in this country. The deficit hawks live in a bipolar world of prosperous Swiss banks and Greece, with nothing in between. We’ve become the laughingstock of the world. Some in the blogosphere even tastelessly called the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary a fraud, in their tacky, conspiracy-consumed noggins. I thought they were busy “defending” gun-gorged Arizona from the “Mezkins.”
For those who fear “tyranny” under every bed, remember the other countries that have been invaded and/or occupied by a repressive foreign power or native pols. In the last century, not distant, delusional fantasies of kooky King George’s red coats in an era before the invention of aspirin. Finland was invaded in 1939 by the neighboring Soviet Union and the invaders were turned back by armies, not a gaggle of inDUHvidual assault rifle fantasy fondlers. With Bushmaster Accessory Barbie guns. There are still firearms there. Registered, regulated guns that their freely elected government hasn’t tried to “confiscate.”
Chill, America, the sky is not falling, but we have work to do for a safer society.