Two stories:
In 1974, I was a bank teller in Lansing, Michigan, when a woman approached my window. She showed me what she said was a gun, wrapped in a towel, and told me she’d shoot me if I didn’t give her the money at my station. A few months later, I left the bank, but to this day I watch for strange behavior in banks, and I’m terrified at teller machines.
In 1985, my daughter was a high school junior, and she attended a Saturday party. Half an hour after she left, a fight broke out, and the younger brother of her best friend was shot and killed. After that, I was afraid that every late night phone call would be the one to tell me that my daughter had died by gun violence. She died in 2003, 18 years later, from an illness, and I realized, for the first time in years, that I was no longer afraid of late night phone calls. Her death stopped that fear. HOW VERY SAD!!! (71-year-old mother)