There are obviously many issues in the world, today. We hear about the same ones every week on the news or read about them in the paper or on Facebook and Twitter. Last Monday, several were addressed on a debate stage, while others were not. Some seem frivolous, and others are far graver. I don’t usually get political. I don’t like to argue, mostly because I’m not as informed as I should be, but sometimes thoughts arise that I can’t hold back.

Now, I’m not here to sway your opinion. I am not trying to change how you think or how you vote. I just have some thoughts, and I know you may not agree with me, so feel free to respond in the comments.

I have been hearing a lot about the election in November and the presidential races of each candidate. My social media feeds are chock full of arguments for and against each side—as well as the Libertarian and Green party candidates—and I form opinions and debate internally, but one thing I have noticed is that there seems to be some confusion about the issue of gun control.

First of all, semantics are very important. Gun control does not necessarily mean gun ban. Nobody is going to walk down every street in the country and knock on each door, saying, “Good morning, sir/ma’am. Since the Democrats took control of congress last month, I am here to confiscate all your firearms and ammunition. If you could just put everything in this here basket, I’ll be on my way.”

Yes, some people would like that to happen, but realistically that is inconceivable. Where are they going to take them? Our landfills are already overflowing. You can’t throw them there. Are they going to dump them in an active volcano? That might work, but stand clear when they drop the ammunition. Are they going to put them in the world’s tallest gun cabinet? Or maybe a giant warehouse with 100 million pairs of upturned deer hooves.

Nope, no one is doing that either. It just doesn’t make sense.

Well, that’s settled, but there are still people out there that just don’t think restriction is necessary or important. Listen, I grew up in a household with guns. My father and grandfather still have several each. I learned how to handle rifles and shotguns and revolvers. My favorite, to this day, is a little bolt-action .22 that my great grandfather bought when he was young and passed onto my grandfather, who gave it to me. I remember fondly the days we would have target practice or when my dad and I would go out hunting.

I know people like their guns. It’s about recreation, about food, about protection in many cases, but when an adult can walk into a gun shop and walk out a happy customer in no more than a few hours, something seems wrong.

We have a list of people who are not allowed to use our airlines for a variety of reasons, but many of those same people can purchase firearms. Say you’re about to board a plane, and in front of you there’s an average-looking guy, nothing suspicious about him except that he has an Isis tattoo on the back of his neck and a hat that says “Make America Pay Again.” Do you let him on the plane? Well even if they kick him out of the airport, thanks to the National Rifle Association and given he has no prior arrests, that man can walk down the road and go in and come out of Walmart with a handgun, a box of hollowpoints and a chip on his shoulder.

Some argue that criminals are going to break the law, regardless, so gun laws only hurt law-abiding citizens—and I used to be in that same boat—but if one law stops one person from taking one life, isn’t it worth it? Is that not worth waiting an extra week, or two days, or a few hours to get another rifle?

Well, maybe you’re a cynic, like me. It’s only one life; with over 300 million people in this country, we can afford to lose a few.

Okay, but what if it’s me?

Here’s another scenario. Remember the guy you saw at the airport? Well, he got his gun, easy-peasy. Now he’s huffing and puffing and walking into the local movie theater, where I’ve decided to sit down with a lady friend for a film. Let’s say we decided to watch "Sully." We both like Tom Hanks. We wonder what his next based-on-the-astonishing-true-story film will be.

Well, Johnny Handgun is a smart man; he knows which film is most popular so he buys a ticket, his last, and steps into theater four. He looks into the crowd awhile, amidst growingly frustrated viewers, before opening fire.

Everyone jumps up to run or ducks down below seats. I’m not a brave man, but in the heat of the moment my instinct forces me up and across my friend, whether to protect her or to dive out of the way; my mind can’t decide which before a bullet penetrates my lower back, shattering two vertebrae and sending shrapnel into one of my kidneys.

Just then, a brave soul in the back of the auditorium draws her sidearm and shoots the man dead.

A gun saved the day, but I’m still lying facedown in a puddle of root beer and my own blood, a popcorn kernel oscillating in my blurring vision before it fades to black. The headline tomorrow reads, “Lone Shooter Strikes Cineplex, Concealed Carrier Saves Lives,” but someone is still planning a funeral. So, again, what if it’s me?

Better yet, what if it’s you? Still cynical? You’d be dead; what do you care? Well, what if it’s your kid? What if it’s your first-born son? What if it’s your youngest daughter? What if it’s your sister, your mother, your husband?

Now, you can ask the President what he thinks, and you can ask the American Sniper’s widow what she thinks. Ask the crooked old lady on stage what she thinks, or ask the tangerine blow-hard what he thinks, but the only person that really matters here is you. What do you think?

I think I need a beer. Have a nice day.