My Big Bang
Lessons in Gun Control
By
Brock E. Deskins
Published by Brock E. Deskins at Smashwords
Cover
Illustration Copyright © 2011
Cover art by Brock E. Deskins
Copyright ©2011 Brock E. Deskins
My Big Bang
Most people are familiar with the Big Bang. It is the theory that the entire universe was created from a single massive explosion. Many, if not most of us, experience some sort of Big Bang episode in our lives. It is that single event, both awesome and destructive, that leaves an indelible imprint in our memories. This event may have etched itself so permanently in your mind because it created such an incredible happenstance and changed your life for good or ill. But more likely it was remarkable simply because of its unparalleled stupidity. Such is my story.
It was the summer of 1985. It was a beautiful day in my tiny town of Brownsville, Oregon. I should have been outside riding my bike or hanging out with a friend. I was fourteen and certainly could have found better forms of entertainment than planting myself in front of the television but that is where I found myself this warm summer day.
Dad was spending the weekend at the veteran's hospital once again. He felt I was responsible enough to be left on my own for a couple days, so really the tragedy that was about to unfold was due as much to his poor judgment as mine.
I was bored. Back then there were only three channels and the midday lineup was about as boring as it got so I decided to make my viewing process more entertaining. Dad, and me by extension, was an avid sportsman so we had several guns in the house. Most were rifles used for hunting and target practice, but he did have one pistol and that was my tool to having a fun afternoon.
I had grown up around guns all my life and gun safety had been drilled into my head from the time I could understand human speech. What many parents fail to understand is that the portion of a person's brain that helps to make intelligent decisions does not fully develop until a person is in their late teens to early twenties. I am certain mine did not fully ripen until well into my thirties and may well still be a bit underdone.
I crept into my dad's room and saw the pistol laying there on top the dresser as if presenting itself to me as a gift. It begged to be picked up and handled. It was a marvel of human invention, a tool used to forge entire nations. To simply ignore such a tool was a crime in itself. I looked in wonder and excitement at the faux-pearl handle and its long, black barrel. To most people who know anything about guns it looked exactly like what it was—a cheap .22 caliber revolver that when fired, shaved so much lead it felt like someone was throwing sand in your face with every squeeze of the trigger. To me, it was the ultimate symbol of power, and power is fun.
I enjoyed the feel of the cool, plastic handle as I wrapped my fingers around it. The weight of it gave me a sense of security. I bet the bullies at school would not mess me right now, I said to myself. The bullies would have to wait. For now, I would be content with simply shooting the annoying people that flashed across the screen of the television.
I walked back into the small living room of our tiny, rented house. The front door with its small, curtained window in its upper center stood closed to my left. The walls were a horrible, pale lime-green color. Almost directly ahead of me and slightly to my left was the big console television I had grown up with all my life. Less than eight feet in front of the television was my dad’s old recliner.