When I was about 10 years old, my father took my older brother and I out to the edge of a corn field at my grandfather’s farm in rural Missouri, placed rifles in our hands and very carefully taught us how to shoot, and do it well. Spending much of the afternoon at it, we shot tin cans off of fence posts, achieving accuracy from roughly 30 to 40 yards away before moving on to also learning how to use my dad’s revolver, and grandpa’s shotgun.

Throughout my teen years, I remember that my dad kept his guns inside our suburban Chicago home, elegantly mounted on his bedroom wall in plain view. The pistol he stored in an unlocked desk drawer in the family room. The two of us boys always knew exactly where our father’s firearms were, and we were also shown where he kept the bullets, but never once did either of us ever think of touching them – much less shooting someone to resolve conflict. We knew that guns could be lethal if toyed with, and that just like fishing, they were best intended for hunting and sport.

Thanks to the men in our family, my brother, little sister and I were exposed to outdoor activities like fishing, hunting, archery and more as children. We had access to the tools and equipment for all of these sports, but again never injured or killed each other, or any other kid with them. It didn’t ever cross my mind to point a bow-and-arrow at anything other than a target, and they never did either on their own. More significantly, my dad’s guns never came to life, climbed down off of the wall, loaded themselves and fired upon anyone. Guns just don’t shoot people or anything else without help, and never have.

So imagine my disdain, then, to see hundreds of Chicago Public Schools students marching into downtown Chicago recently protesting “gun violence,” and asking that stiffer gun laws be enacted in the wake of 23 young people having been killed throughout the city this year. I’m the father of a teenager myself, and like any feeling, compassionate person, I’m saddened by the senseless, wasteful loss of life. But instead of venturing out of their neighborhoods and down to City Hall to demonstrate, these kids quite frankly should have been picketing in front of their own homes demanding active, responsible parenting from their parents.

It would have made much more sense, and been a world’s better use of their time and energy for them to be either in classrooms, or marching to the homes of those wannabe thugs in their communities that have no other means of proving themselves than to hide behind a gun – or a baseball bat for that matter. Laws need to be passed that force parents to parent, or be jailed, and young hoodlums or those aspiring to be should be provided target practice, so they can rid us of their presence and allow innocent bystanders their rightful opportunity to grow up.

No, my parents didn’t know all there is to know about rearing children, but I’m thankful that we kids were disciplined, and had it consistently driven home to us that there were consequences for our actions. There was no doubt in my mind that I would have had to deal with my father if I ever so much as thought of touching his guns or ammunition minus supervision.  Additionally, it was instilled in us that there are safe, dignified mechanisms for settling disputes with our peers, namely talking out our differences, agreeing to disagree and shaking hands, walking away and fighting only if unavoidable.  And rule number one was to avoid acting out any of these things on school grounds.

Again, in a word, it’s a simple, generations-old concept called “parenting.” People seem to truly enjoy making babies, but for some strange reason just abhor the job of parent. It’s not all about preachers making dramatic speeches in front of TV cameras, activists blaming gangs, lighting candles or placing teddy bears at crime scenes. It’s not about mothers crying “not my baby” to reporters, or declaring “my baby boy was a good kid” when they know otherwise. The time is up for excuses, and our Black youth aren’t anyone’s babies when they’re old enough to take a life.

Child rearing is about arming young people with the three R’s: Basic respect for life, respect for themselves, their elders and responsibility. I never knew what the state’s gun laws were growing up, and for the most part I still don’t. All I knew was what my dad’s law was, and I respected his authority a great deal more than the police, or some classmate I had petty issues with. At home, we had to answer for not thinking. There was no tolerance for doing something as idiotic as reaching for a gun like a coward when our parents taught us better.

 

Editor’s note: Ronald E. Childs is an award-winning Black journalist living in Chicago. His The Observer column is distributed bi-weekly by OMEN Syndication, and by the Black Digital Network. Childs can be reached at TheOMEN091959@aol.com, or by visiting www.theomenonline.com.