I was eight years old when I experienced gun violence. One Friday night, my mom, my five-year-old sister and I had fallen asleep while watching TV. My mom’s boyfriend came home drunk and angry. He kicked in the bedroom door. He had a revolver in his hand. I jumped up to protect my mom and little sister. He put me in a headlock and held the gun to my right temple. I still remember how cold the barrel was. I bit and scratched his forearm, but he was too strong. My mom begged him to let me go. My sister was crying hysterically.
He told my mom, “I will kill your son.” He pointed the gun at my baby sister and said, “I will kill your daughter.” Then he put the gun to his chin and said, “Then I will kill myself… but I will let you live so that you’ll always have the memory of seeing your children die in front of you.” This went on for hours. After awhile, he gestured, and the gun flew out of his hand. My mom grabbed it and hid it in the closet, and we ran out of the house.