Let there be guns?

I’ve heard it said many ways. “Let there be light.” “Let there be peace on earth.” Even “Let there be rock.” But “Let there be guns?”

I don’t know everything there is to know about boys. I grew up in a house without any, so I learn something new almost every day. But I can’t help but wonder if our newest playtime activity is a universal endeavor of little boys in general, or if it is simply a sign of our times.

As sheltering children goes, I’d say we do a pretty good job. We pre-screen the movies that are “made for kids”, we have yet to engage in overnight sleepovers, and we have managed to steer clear of the Spike channel on TV. The closest our boys come to witnessing violent behavior is a clearing of the dugouts on ESPN or a wrestling match with dad on the living room floor. I think they did watch a rerun of Rocky, against my better judgment, but definitely nothing with guns.

So why is it that when boys get together, everything becomes a weapon? A fallen twig becomes a rifle; a building block becomes a pistola; and a few Legos, with little effort, can oddly come to resemble a revolver.

I’ve been wondering about this little-boy phenomenon that has so recently invaded our world. Running around the yard, hiding behind trees with the sounds of “pew pew” punching past their lips in a whisper that mimics every shot. Where did they learn such a game? Surely a four-second shot of a pirate’s pistol in Peter Pan couldn’t cause such an obsession.

As parents do when a new trend arises, I inspected our environment. Have we somehow inadvertently exposed these boys to the dangerous world of weaponry? Have we spoken of war or watched CNN or even told a gruesome hunting story in their presence?

Then it hit me. Maybe they have finally inferred how Uncle Toby managed to mount that deer head on his wall. Maybe they really do understand what happened to Bambi’s mother. Maybe they are no different than the generations of little boys who wrote letters to Santa asking for Red Rider BB guns, even though their overprotective mothers warned that inevitably, they’d put out an eye.

Maybe they aren’t bound to be gangsters or destined to be pirates. Maybe they are as normal as any other little boy playing cops and robbers in the front yard or cowboys and Indians in the back. Maybe we are doing just fine, raising good-hearted little boys in a world that can be tough for the strongest of men.

Let there be guns? Not if I have my druthers. But I suppose like so many others, they’ll turn out just fine in spite of it.

And that’s All in a day’s work!