This was long before Columbine, before metal detectors in the hallways. A kid pulling a stunt like this today would probably get a three-day suspension. I didn’t even get a talking-to, just my mom asking me why I didn’t want to be an astronaut anymore. In 1985, eight-year-olds with violent thoughts – even violent streaks – were simply "boys being boys," not red flags. Sure, the grownups still blamed our behavior on violent movies and toys. This was back when toy guns were made to look real – not painted electric blue. But, I didn’t need anything realistic-looking. The remote control worked fine as a handgun. Hold it in the left hand and quick draw with the right. "You talkin’ to me?"

I’ve never seriously considered killing anybody, never owned a real gun, never even gotten into a fist-fight. But in my play, in my imagination, there was always plenty of violence. I used to make my Star Wars figures spar on the arm (cliff) of the recliner in an effort to throw each other into the carpet (lava) below. My Masters of the Universe and Transformers play-sessions always involved a fight to the death until only one figure was left standing. My sister and I invented a game appropriately called Spies, which was basically hide-and-seek with guns. One person would run for cover while the other counted to fifty. The goal was to sneak up on the other person and shoot them before they shot you. Whomever got shot counted to fifty and once again set out to seek and destroy – no prisoners taken. My weapon of choice was always the vacuum cleaner extension. Make a loud TTFF-TTFF-TTFF-TTFF noise and I had myself a powerful little machine gun.

Pretend violence stayed pretend for me, though my parents were wise to not buy me the BB gun I wanted for Christmas, much less the 30-30 rifle like many of the hunting families in the area owned. Better that I stuck to squirt guns and sawed off broomsticks. I managed to get out of childhood without harming myself or others. Play violence was always more of a catharsis. Even into early adult life, feelings of wanting to beat the crap out of somebody were exorcised by ripping the heart out of a guy’s chest in Mortal Combat. Misogynistic tendencies were dealt with by bitch-slapping Kyla or Trudi or whoever-they-were in Tekken.

I know that for as many of my kind as there are in the world, there are just as many who look at violence in movies not as an entertainment device, but as an instruction manual. I’m no psychologist. I don’t know if violence is inherent or cultivated. Would I have thought to use my baseball as a grenade had I not seen Commando? All I do know is that to this day, I have yet to purposely inflict any real physical pain on another human being. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t still spontaneously hold the remote sideways like a gangsta with a glock making a PAUGHHH sound as I execute an imaginary opponent… or perhaps a rouge communist spy.