I spend July 4 in a high state of anxiety and mourning for what this country has lost. As for guns, my parents owned no guns, and my dad had a no-handguns sticker on our kitchen door, which was not popular among the village folk. When I was working for the University System of New Hampshire, I had to go through active-shooter training. Talk about surreal! There were basically three responses we average employees could make to a madman with an automatic weapon and plenty of ammo. The first was run out of the building. If our escape route was blocked, then we should hide. If we couldn't hide, we might as well try to fight back and disarm the shooter, 'cause we're all gonna die anyway. Unreal . . .
I don’t know if you’re aware, but @Denyse Allen and I are gathering stories about the 1976 US Bicentennial, and I’d love you to join us over there and maybe share some of your memories from that historic year!
Every story is welcome as we seek to encourage folks everywhere to tell their own memories and personal histories.
My Boston Terrier gets very anxious during fireworks so I spent most of the evening comforting her. I live in a working class neighborhood where they like to shoot fireworks, and I imagine a gun or two while they’re at it, so I’m not a big fan of this holiday. 😅
I remember those cap guns. My favorite were the snakes. That little square of black that morphed into a squirmy snake! We'd go to grandma's and watch the fireworks from her side yard. As a teenager and older I'd go with friends downtown and head to the riverfront for the festivities. Now I stay home and this year was in bed by 8:30. Nothing to celebrate this year. We never had guns although my brother used to play with toy guns. Watching one of my old videos Dad shot back in the 60s with John pointing the gun pretty much freaked me out. I do what I can - donate, write and call, go to rallies and during election years make sure all candidates are on Vote411.org. I also contact all of those in competitive races. Most don't respond.
A son of a family friend had one of those cap guns. They stayed with us for a few weeks one Christmas. He was restricted to only six caps per day, which made him less insufferable: he could only refuse to give either my sister or I "a turn" only six times. Besides, in our game of Cowboys and Indians, I had already made a bow with a couple of arrows. I don't think such games are permitted these days... I dislike violence, war and guns, and never learned to fire one for that reason.
I spend July 4 in a high state of anxiety and mourning for what this country has lost. As for guns, my parents owned no guns, and my dad had a no-handguns sticker on our kitchen door, which was not popular among the village folk. When I was working for the University System of New Hampshire, I had to go through active-shooter training. Talk about surreal! There were basically three responses we average employees could make to a madman with an automatic weapon and plenty of ammo. The first was run out of the building. If our escape route was blocked, then we should hide. If we couldn't hide, we might as well try to fight back and disarm the shooter, 'cause we're all gonna die anyway. Unreal . . .
Oh, my goodness, Liz. Yes, the divide seems to be going deeper and deeper, very unnerving.
When I entered the university system in our state (1980s) there was no such training. I would hate it!
Liz, I replied to your comment hours ago, but it seems to have gotten misplaced on the thread. Sorry!
There wasn't any such training when I started out in higher ed in the 1990s either. A sad commentary on the world we live in.
@Marian, what a fantastic 4th of July memory!
I don’t know if you’re aware, but @Denyse Allen and I are gathering stories about the 1976 US Bicentennial, and I’d love you to join us over there and maybe share some of your memories from that historic year!
Every story is welcome as we seek to encourage folks everywhere to tell their own memories and personal histories.
Check it out: https://open.substack.com/pub/bicentennialmemoryproject
I have looked at the website and will check to see what, if anything, I can contribute. Thanks for the alert, Lori.
My Boston Terrier gets very anxious during fireworks so I spent most of the evening comforting her. I live in a working class neighborhood where they like to shoot fireworks, and I imagine a gun or two while they’re at it, so I’m not a big fan of this holiday. 😅
So sorry about your doggie. Some dog owners I know use a thundershirt for fireworks 🧨 and thunderstorms ⛈️.
I remember those cap guns. My favorite were the snakes. That little square of black that morphed into a squirmy snake! We'd go to grandma's and watch the fireworks from her side yard. As a teenager and older I'd go with friends downtown and head to the riverfront for the festivities. Now I stay home and this year was in bed by 8:30. Nothing to celebrate this year. We never had guns although my brother used to play with toy guns. Watching one of my old videos Dad shot back in the 60s with John pointing the gun pretty much freaked me out. I do what I can - donate, write and call, go to rallies and during election years make sure all candidates are on Vote411.org. I also contact all of those in competitive races. Most don't respond.
Thanks for sharing your vivid memories.
Lynda, you are doing your part--and more!
The strict rules imposed on your family friend's son seem amusing now--not so, back then. Your bow and arrows suggests fighting fire with ire. Yes?
Thanks for your thoughtful reply, Allison!
Oh, my goodness, Liz.
When I entered the university system in our state (1980s) there was no such training. I would hate it!
A son of a family friend had one of those cap guns. They stayed with us for a few weeks one Christmas. He was restricted to only six caps per day, which made him less insufferable: he could only refuse to give either my sister or I "a turn" only six times. Besides, in our game of Cowboys and Indians, I had already made a bow with a couple of arrows. I don't think such games are permitted these days... I dislike violence, war and guns, and never learned to fire one for that reason.
The strict rules imposed on your family friend's son seem amusing now--not so, back then. Your bow and arrows suggests fighting fire with ire. Yes?
Thanks for your thoughtful reply, Allison!
The arrows, alas, were not straight and true. More imagination than ire!
Here's to an active imagination, Allison!