When I moved out on my own, my daddy gave me a .38 with several rounds for protection. He gave me specific directions on how to store the ammo away from the gun until I was ready to shoot. And if I was ready to shoot to make it count. When I was pregnant with Corey I chose to give my gun back to Daddy. I just didn’t think I’d ever need protection that bad, and I didn’t think I’d be hunting again any time soon.

When I was a prison guard, I was certified to shoot a .38, a pump action shot gun and an AK 47. Again, those were stored in an armory until we were to use them as a last resort. I never needed to use one.

But I was taught the one thing that I needed above everything else: Exodus 20:13 “Thou shall not murder.”

When Corey was young, at restaurants, I’d take his knife from him so he wouldn’t get cut. As time went on, I taught him how to use a knife.

I taught him that he was to use it to spread peanut butter on sandwiches. It was great for opening boxes. Knives were handy for cutting steaks and carving pumpkins.

I taught him to point the sharp side away from him. Never to hand a knife blade first to someone, and which side of the plate to put it on during a formal dinner party.

He had a Swiss army knife, and some carving knives over the years. I told him to be careful, because they were dangerous.

Corey wasn’t murdered with a gun. He was murdered with a knife.

Maybe we should quit debating how many guns are on our streets and start debating how many knives are… I’ll bet every house on your street has about 100!

Or better yet, lets really talk about something important…

Forget the weapons. How many murderers are out there?

What are we doing about that?