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madrobinsI posted this on Facebook earlier today. Am reposting because it's one of those rare times when I feel that I said what I meant to say.
Many years ago I was mugged while walking down a badly lit street, going to dinner at a friend's house. I was knocked down and found myself more or less rolling on the ground with a kid who outweighed and outmassed me, struggling for possession of my purse. He had a friend who was standing by, playing lookout. In the way that it does, time dilated and contracted; while I was rolling around on the ground with this guy I considered my situation.
What my attacker didn't know was that I had a knife: a wickedly sharp little Gerber Pixie I had been given to wear with a costume. I had it in my pocket, because I was going to show it to my hostess. And I found myself thinking, "I have a knife! I can defend myself!" And then I thought, in more or less rapid succession: 1) he might have a knife too. 2) he might take my knife away from me and use it against me. 3) I don't really want to kill this guy, and he might not have the same scruples. 4) I will not introduce the knife into the equation.
I was pretty sure he wasn't after my adorable body; just my purse. So after realizing that I wasn't going to use the knife in my pocket, I let him have my bag. In which there was nothing but plastic, some pens, and my antihistamines (no money, which I had in my pocket). The muggers ran off. I called the cops and looked at mugshots. We all lived to fight another day. And when I got home the next morning I found my purse hanging on my front door knob: someone had found it, with my license and credit card inside, and returned it to me. The only thing missing was the antihistamines.
All my feelings about "if only someone had had a gun" are summed up in this story. Even when you have a weapon, there's no guarantee it's going to make the situation better or make you safer. I was lucky, and I know it.
Many years ago I was mugged while walking down a badly lit street, going to dinner at a friend's house. I was knocked down and found myself more or less rolling on the ground with a kid who outweighed and outmassed me, struggling for possession of my purse. He had a friend who was standing by, playing lookout. In the way that it does, time dilated and contracted; while I was rolling around on the ground with this guy I considered my situation.
What my attacker didn't know was that I had a knife: a wickedly sharp little Gerber Pixie I had been given to wear with a costume. I had it in my pocket, because I was going to show it to my hostess. And I found myself thinking, "I have a knife! I can defend myself!" And then I thought, in more or less rapid succession: 1) he might have a knife too. 2) he might take my knife away from me and use it against me. 3) I don't really want to kill this guy, and he might not have the same scruples. 4) I will not introduce the knife into the equation.
I was pretty sure he wasn't after my adorable body; just my purse. So after realizing that I wasn't going to use the knife in my pocket, I let him have my bag. In which there was nothing but plastic, some pens, and my antihistamines (no money, which I had in my pocket). The muggers ran off. I called the cops and looked at mugshots. We all lived to fight another day. And when I got home the next morning I found my purse hanging on my front door knob: someone had found it, with my license and credit card inside, and returned it to me. The only thing missing was the antihistamines.
All my feelings about "if only someone had had a gun" are summed up in this story. Even when you have a weapon, there's no guarantee it's going to make the situation better or make you safer. I was lucky, and I know it.