When I was about 12 years old, my elder brother, James, hid a BB gun in his room. Our parents were 1with us and had told us many times that we mustn't bring home guns or knives, 2they were just toys.
James hid the BB gun 3a heap of clothes. I was immediately attracted by the gun. He let me 4it and walk with it.
"Can I shoot it, James?" I asked, 5.
"No way," James said, taking it from me and putting it back inside.
The next day, when no one was home, I went into James' closet and took it out. I have no idea 6I was thinking, and I went to the yard and cracked my neighbor's 7open. Quickly, I ran away.
Old Mr. Schlosberg came out of his grocery store. He looked straight across to our house and knew 8in our house broke the window. I returned the gun and retreated into my room, 9 nervously for someone to get home. Thankfully, James reached home before Mother or Father. If they knew the incident, I would be10for what I had done.
As he stepped through the door, I 11hear old Mr. Schlosberg call his name.
"James, James," he called. "Come here, son." I secretly 12my room and saw he was really mad at him.
"Alma!" he 13. "Get out here! You cracked Mr. Schlosberg's window with my BB gun!"
"Oh, please, James," I begged. "Don't let him tell Mother."
James sighed. I don't know what James said to that man, but I've 14heard of the incident again. Years later, I found out James had used the 15he got from his newspaper route to pay for the window. Since that day, I have never touched a gun: a BB gun, a water gun, a real gun, or any other type.
