Power Extender

I grew up across the street from a family of hunters. It just so happened that  this family's politics skewed to the right from my own, and so this put an early spin on my own accounting of liberal versus conservative values. It was across that street in that family's garage that I came across a deer carcass in the process of being dressed. At ten years old, this was not the kind of experience that passed without a certain amount of scarring. That didn't mean that I stayed away from that house across the street, though I did shy away from the garage. Especially during hunting season.
As I grew up across the street, I became familiar with the defense of hunting deer: Thinning the herd is necessary to keep them from starving. It's all part of the cycle of life. At least that was what I was told.
Over the years, I have recalled that garage, and not just the bloody mess I stumbled on. I also remembered the great big freezer that was full of venison. I remembered the trophies downstairs in their rumpus room. I remembered with gratitude that I was never invited to be part of the hunting party. It was a family thing. Theirs.
And mine.
My family owned guns. A rifle and a pair of handguns. My father was in the army, and he had  learned to shoot. Not for the purpose of putting food on the table or trophies on the wall, but in anticipation of having to kill another human being. And there was probably something about growing up in Kansas and in the foothills of Colorado that made shooting a gun part of growing up. I did that. On a few occasions, my father brought those weapons up to our mountain cabin, where we lined up cans and bottles across the creek. My father and his three boys took turns firing into the hillside, missing most of what we shot at, but enjoying the adrenaline rush of all that exploding gunpowder. It never occurred to me to connect that use of potentially deadly force with that deer I encountered across the street.
It does now. And the part that sticks with me is the feeling I had when I pulled that trigger. That flash of exultation. And the power I had in my hand. I think of that deer. And every other living thing that has been in front of a gun.