So me and the missus and the kids have been suffering through a bit of a summer cold. Which is a lousy way to spend a summer vacation, let me tell you.
But with fevers and snot rockets and one kid throwing up (the Magician) we have spent an awful lot of time watching westerns, because that's what cowboys and cowgirls want to watch when they're sick. So far they've watched Quigley Down Under, Silverado, Blazing Saddles, and today they met the Lone Ranger.
And when they weren't watching westerns, they were fashioning 6-shooters out of tinker toys, which led very quickly to the spread of tinker toys throughout the house. Like rabbits in Australia, or rhinovirus among the natives of South and Central America.
So what Papa did was go spend a couple bucks at Party City for some bright orange pistols and a whole lot less cleaning up.
But, and here's the big issue, I don't like guns. They are not a good idea under most circumstances. Confront a robber with a gun and your chances of getting shot go up. Bullets go through walls and find sleeping children. Suicides go up drastically when there is a gun in the house.
So I had a talk with the Magician and I explained to him that toy guns were fun and useful for shooting pretend bad guys and pretend bad cowboys and pretend monsters, but that real guns are like promises; a promise means NO MATTER WHAT. If you make a promise, you do it, NO MATTER WHAT. And bullets are like that, too. Once a bullet is fired you cannot take it back. It is going to hit something, NO MATTER WHAT. Guns and bullets are absolutes, which is why I dislike them so much. The inquisitive mind dislikes and distrusts the end, the ultimate, the absolute. Bullets are the last period of a French document, le point finale. The little black dot that ends everything. NO MATTER WHAT.
Which is maybe a tad extreme, but I was talking to a 6 year old and subtlety is lost upon fresher minds.