A Gun for Every Baby Born

DAN STOOD WATCH OVER THE BEDS OF HIS FIVE SLEEPING CHILDREN. An arsenal of guns—five, to be exact—were locked tightly in a chest in the corner of the bedroom. Dan opened the chest with the key that he wore on a chain around his neck and surveyed its contents.

Nestled in a cunning satin-lined box was the pink handgun that had been given to Naomi, his firstborn girl. The next, a hunting rifle housed in a handsome case, came with Luke, his second son. Two more handguns and an AK-47 were presented to Ruth, Mary, and Thomas, respectively. A stunning collection, well worth having, and necessary to protect his family.

Dan remembered the day, ten years ago, when Noah, his eldest, was born. No sooner had the first cries emitted from his howling baby mouth when the two officials came, dressed in military costume. Dan, who had been expecting his mother-in-law, looked up in surprise.

One of the officials unrolled a document and read, “On behalf of the President of the United States and his Armed Forces, we present baby—” he looked at Dan beseechingly.

“What’s the baby’s name?” As this procedure was new, the officials hadn’t had much practice in perfecting it.

“Noah,” said Dan.

“Noah with his God-given birthright, the right to bear arms.” The second official handed Dan the box, which resembled something you might find long-stemmed red roses in. The first official wrote Noah’s name carefully on the document, along with the make and model of the rifle and the date it was presented. This way, nobody could claim the gun for themselves.

“What if something happens to him?” Dan blurted out, while Beth, his wife, exhausted from the birth, moaned in disapproval from the bed.

“The weapon reverts to you,” said the first official, pointing it out on the document. Sure enough, in tiny print, it read, “In the event of said baby passing, this weapon will belong solely to his/her parent or, if of age, next of kin.”

Dan didn’t think much about the tiny print back then—he was so overwhelmed with his firstborn, a son. It wasn’t until babies two, three, four, five and six came along that he realized the full blessings of the gifts.

Dan stared at the five sleeping children and caught himself tearing up. Who knew that having children would come with such God-given presents? Such beautiful, beautiful children. Well, most of them. Baby Thomas didn’t look so snappy. The doctor had warned that there might be something wrong with him—Beth was 46 when she conceived—and had suggested some kind of test to determine whether the little baby would develop normally. Dan almost pulled Beth out of the doctor’s office. He suspected that the doctor was goading them into murdering his innocent unborn son, right there in his mother’s womb.

What upset him more was that Beth was getting a little long in the tooth to have babies. Dan did the math in his head—my God, she was almost fifty. He’d have to think about a newer model. Pity they only started the program, A Gun for Every Baby Born, the year before Noah was conceived.

Dan went inside the house and over to the crib to where Thomas lay. Dan thought about the AK-47. A Gun for Every Baby Born had come a long way over the past ten years.  He studied Thomas, as listless in sleep as he was in waking life. The murderous doctor had been right about his development. Thomas would probably never learn to walk, never mind learn to shoot. He’d said as much to Beth, who gently reminded him that Thomas was only seven months old.

Dan unlocked the chest of arsenal and lifted the AK-47. “God, she’s a beauty”, he whispered. He cradled the top of Thomas’s head with his palm. “Thanks, little one.” Surely God had given Thomas life for this express purpose, to bring this glorious weapon into his father’s arms. Dan said a prayer of gratitude. Then he lifted the AK-47 to take aim.

“Daddy.” Dan whirled around. Noah was there, pointing his birth rifle right at Dan’s head.

“Hey,” said Dan. “What are you doin’?”

“That’s my baby brother.” Noah’s voice shook, but his face was hard, like a little bullet. “I’m keeping him safe.”

“Of course you are, Noah,” said Dan, rage and resignation rising simultaneously.  The kid was an excellent marksman. Every year, starting with preschool, he had brought home the highest honors for marksmanship. Noah’s gun hadn’t been in the locked case since he was seven.

“I’m protecting him til he’s old enough to shoot,” said Noah. Behind him, in the shadows of the living room, Dan could see the shape of Beth.

“And I’m protecting him too, son,” said Dan. Noah stood, still aiming the rifle.  Dan put down the weapon. He lay it next to Thomas. “I’m gonna protect you and your brothers and sisters and your mom from outside, okay? You keep watch in here, Noah.” Dan walked out of the house, into the backyard.

Damn that kid, he thought, as he took his customary place on the front porch. He contemplated the AK-47 and sighed. He may have to ditch Beth sooner than he intended, if only to get away from Noah’s watchful eye. There was a cute teenager in the church, whose hips looked perfect for childbearing. Dan ran his fingers through his graying hair and thought about dyeing it.