Spent the day in
contemplation...reviewing my life.
I remembered a
childhood incident not unlike that in the popular film “A Christmas
Story”.
All the kids in the
neighbourhood had BB guns except for me.
I begged and begged but
my mother was adamant that I should never have one convinced as she was that
something terrible would happen. She had visions of me shooting my eye out or
perhaps even injuring an innocent bird in the
backyard.
Imagine my shock and
surprise when one Christmas, when I was 8 years old, I found a brightly wrapped
BB gun beneath the tree.
My father had relented
and decided that I too should share in the same fun as my
friends.
My mother, needless to
say, was a bit upset but she finally, though hesitatingly,
consented.
I spent that Christmas
day running about the house with my new toy causing no shortage of alarm to the
assembled family.
I should have heeded
her earlier words for true to her warnings and in spite of my tireless effots to
‘play safely’ something terrible did happen.
I killed my
grandparents.
With a
knife.
