I don’t think I’ll ever give up on guns completely. There are few settings in which I really feel at peace these days, but drifting down the river in our canoe, on a warm fall day, hunting ducks with my dad, is among them (with shotguns plugged to hold only three rounds, if you were wondering, because the law is designed to give waterfowl the sporting chance against a gun that the law doesn’t bother to give concertgoers or schoolchildren).
Even short of complete abstinence, guns will never again be an unhealthy obsession for me. I’ll never own another gun that was designed to allow a shooter to kill a large number of people very quickly. I’ll never waiver from the conviction that in the 21st century, if we are dissatisfied with our government, we vote, we don’t form an armed militia. The NRA will never get another dime from me, and if that organization crumbles under pressure from the New York Attorney General or falls to the internal corruption and graft at its center, I will cheer. I will always hold out hope that the loved ones still seduced by the gun lobby’s lies can someday do what I did: escape.