It Doesn't Matter...
My childhood was somewhat unique. Born in Iran during a vicious war with Iraq, guns and bombs were a daily reality. My friends all ran around with toy guns, toy rifles, army shorts and hats, make-believe bombs and grenades and RPGs. A number of older kids ran around with actual pistols. Before long I found myself in Texas, where part of my family lived. Texas is a gun state; guns are wholly ingrained in the culture, in a way I've found rare even in the US, as guns are a part of daily life in a way which hasn't altered all that much since settlement of the country. Kids in my class ran around with toy guns, toy rifles, cowboy chaps and hats, make-believe horses and shoot-outs and outlaws and sheriffs. A number of older kids ran around with actual rifles. Throughout my childhood I begged for a toy gun. Yet, no matter the intensity of my pleas, the fervour of my demands, the sincerity of my begging, my parents refused to allow me to own any t...