This is fascinating. As a Canadian, I sometimes forget how different we really are up here. I had never heard of Johnny Tremain though I’ve read a lot of American books.

When I was growing up on the side of a mountain in the Canadian wilderness (not really, but close), my dad had guns in his bedroom, locked up with chains and a padlock. None of us ever touched them, though — even my brother who at fifteen stole a car from my dad and went joyriding with open alcohol never touched the guns.

I’ve never owned a gun. I never want to own a gun. Honestly, guns scare me.

When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I volunteered at a summer camp that offered “riflery” class. They were pellet guns, and even those kinda scared me (even though the bows and arrows at the archery pit were much more dangerous).

I’ve never gone hunting. I think if I did, I would like to try bow hunting. I loved archery at camp, and holding a bow doesn’t make my hands shake like a gun does (it’s a visceral reaction that I can’t control).

I don’t really know why guns scare me. It’s probably because of how they’re portrayed on TV and movies.

Poet, lover, thinker, human.

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