My Child Found a Loaded Gun

He could have become a statistic. Instead, he ran to me.

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Photo by Matthew Osborn on Unsplash

Yesterday, my 8-year-old son and my 9-year-old niece found a discarded, loaded handgun on the outskirts of a ball field, while I watched my youngest niece play soccer.

Let me set the scene for you. The game starts at 6pm and its a lovely evening. The weather is ideal, warm and sunny. The players are seven-years-old. The field is a grassy strip nestled between the Potomac River and a wooded area that leads to the C&O Canal path. It’s a popular area for walking, biking, fishing and boating. Or as popular as it gets in this tiny nook of a town. The fields stretch below a bridge that crosses the Potomac and connects the states of Maryland and West Virginia.

It probably looks exactly like the sports games you attend with your children. It reminded me of the evening soccer practices I attended when I was young. Ordinary, yet iconic of how American families spend their free time with their children.

There were probably four or five games running simultaneously, with at least 100 elementary-aged children and their families spread comfortably across the green expanse. My son asked if he and his cousin could explore beneath the bridge, where the large concrete foundation blocks held the legs of the structure. My first instinct was to say “no.” I am an anxious mother, my instinct is always “no.” I paused for a beat. I glanced at the rectangular concrete feet of the bridge, knowing that my energetic child was hoping to scramble atop them. It looked no more risky than a potential scraped knee, a twisted ankle at worst. They would be within view and earshot. They would be surrounded by adults. In my head, I said “I have to let him be a kid.” So I said yes.

Less than ten minutes later, only moments after I had noticed that they had in fact climbed triumphantly atop the concrete step, he ran to me breathless.

“Mom, mom you have to see this.”

My children are always saying this. “What it is?” I ask.

“We found a gun.”

And indeed, they had. Laying in the damp dirt beneath the bridge, as if someone had tossed it over the guardrail of the overpass. A man-made rattlesnake, waiting to strike unsuspecting children.

Surely, it was fake. A realistic toy or paint ball gun. I stared at it, trying to assess. I had never seen a gun up close. I looked around at the dozens of young children who play, oblivious.

When the police arrived, I watched the officer pick up the weapon, make a swift motion and the bullet fell to the ground. Loaded.

I felt like I might be sick.

After a tense evening, I slept hard. Yet I woke up this morning feeling like I had not slept at all. As if my mind and body had been vigilant all night. Is that what parenting is these days? Is there nowhere that my children are safe?

I am staunchly anti-gun. We do not have guns in our home. I have taught my oldest child what to do if he finds himself in the presence of a gun. I explained that other children might know where their parents store the weapons, or they could stumble across one while playing in someone else’s home. I did everything right to protect my children from gun violence. And still.

My son is a rule-follower. He is slightly anxious, and risk-averse. I’m immensely proud, but not surprised, that he first found a parent. And yet, I wish he did not need to protect himself in that way.

Never again do I want my 8-year-old’s decision-making skills and impulse control to be the ONLY thing standing between him and a loaded gun.

The adults should be protecting him, protecting all our children.

Please do not say, “Irresponsible gun owners are ruining it for the responsible owners.” That is what a father on the soccer field said to me, while he helped me call the police. While I stood tearful and nauseas, reckoning with how close we came to tragedy.

I am not concerned about what this incident means for all the adults who feel entitled to gun ownership in this country. They are not the victims here. The victims are the children who do not get to feel safe. Safe in their schools, their homes, their neighborhood streets. Their ball fields.

The victims are the parents who do not feel safe letting our children play outside or even go to school, for fear that they could be accidentally or purposely shot. I am exhausted. I can not protect them all by myself. None of us can.

Since 2020, firearms have been the leading cause of death of youth aged 1-19 in the United States. Please teach your children what to do if they find themselves in the presence of a gun. It’s imperative and lifesaving. And it is not enough. Research suggests that at least half of children will still play with a gun they find, even when they have been educated not too.

Please share this story. Every parent and lawmaker needs to read it.

As we walked away from the soccer field that night, my son and my niece sang a little jingle about gun safety that they had learned at school. “Stop, Don’t Touch, Run Away, Call a Grown-Up.” They giggled and sang, their innocence on full display. I’m grateful they learned that song. I hated to hear them sing it.

Disclosure: Dr. Amber_Writes is a newsletter designed to be informational, entertaining, and engaging. It is not therapy. Following this newsletter does not establish a therapeutic relationship with me. Dr. Amber_Writes, and other written communication by Amber Groomes on Substack, is not a substitute for treatment, diagnosis, or consultation with a licensed mental health professional. I assume no liability for any action taken in reliance on my writing here at Dr. Amber_Writes.