I can vaguely remember our mother assembling us, our friends as well, to watch her shoot through a thick beech log with her pistol. At the back side of it, the wood was splintered, torn apart by the projectile. We were so blown away, there needed no speeches. We understood. From that moment on, it was clear that never in our lives would we aim a weapon, loaded or not, at a living person. We wouldn’t even level toy guns at one another.
