One Freedom Guards the Other

I saw a man get shot. Not in some faraway warzone, but right here in the land of amber waves of grain and free refills at the diner. He was speaking his mind—exercising that precious First Amendment, the one we like to brag about when we talk about how free we are.

Then, in a crack louder than any firecracker on the Fourth of July, the man’s voice went silent.

Now, I don’t pretend to be a philosopher. I’m more like the kind of guy who thinks too long about whether ketchup belongs in the refrigerator or the pantry.

But in that moment, if a man can lose his life for speaking his mind, what business do I have surrendering my right to defend myself? The First Amendment and the Second Amendment—they’re not siblings that live in separate rooms.

They’re roommates, sharing the same roof of freedom. One guards the other.

I’ve heard all the polite debates, the clever soundbites, the lectures on “needs” versus “rights.” Folks will say, “You don’t need a gun.”

Well, I don’t need a pickup truck either, but try hauling a load of firewood home on a bicycle.

“Need” isn’t the question. Freedom is.

That man I saw—he didn’t need to say what he said, either. He could’ve stayed home, eaten a sandwich, watched a ball game, and kept his opinions to himself.

But freedom isn’t about what you need. It’s about what you choose, and when someone pays the price for using his voice, I know I’ll never give up the means to protect mine.

Now, I ain’t some wild-eyed Rambo type. I don’t sleep with an AR under my pillow or fantasize about running through the woods in face paint.

I did that. It wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be.

I’m the kind of fella who double-checks the sink to make sure it ain’t dripping. I lock my doors, say my prayers, and hope tomorrow’s weather won’t mess with my joints, but I also know evil doesn’t make an appointment before it shows up.

My granddad used to say, “An armed society is a polite society.”

It was his way of saying that good folks don’t go looking for trouble, but it doesn’t hurt to be ready when trouble comes looking for you.

And here’s where it gets tender–I don’t want my wife to feel scared walking from the car to the grocery store at night, my son or daughter-in-law wondering if the world is so dangerous that words can kill. I want them both to know that there’s still a backbone in this old Republic, and that backbone is the God-given right to stand tall, speak freely, and, if pushed, defend life itself.

I also want them to know I’ll defend them and their rights to my death, if needed.

We get told nowadays that holding onto these rights is somehow unkind, that it makes us dangerous. But I don’t buy it.

I’ve seen enough to know the dangerous people are those who believe rights are negotiable, like a coupon allowed to expire. That’s not freedom, that’s management, and I don’t need a manager for my liberty. So, I refuse to give up my Second Amendment, because I refuse to give up my First.

The day I watched a man die for speaking, I remembered something bone-deep–rights ain’t protected by wishful thinking, but secured through responsibility, courage, and sometimes, sadly, steel. So, I’ll keep my voice, and I’ll keep my arms.

And I’ll keep the faith that this messy, noisy, sometimes violent, but always beautiful experiment called America is still worth defending. And for the record, ketchup belongs in the refrigerator.

Some things are just common sense.