My land is my father’s land. My grandfather’s land. My great grandfather’s land. My land has been protected for generations by a fence and signs that say “keep out”. That fence took thirteen years and the blood of many patriots to build. When the fence was built, it was thought that it would be enough to keep you out.
My land is fertile land. I work the soil and produce many fruits. I have a manicured lawn and flowering shrubs, a flower bed, and a statue of St. Francis that my mother gave me.
And uninvited, you came onto my property. At first you snuck over the fence at night, trampled my flowers, and kicked out chunks of sod from my lawn. Just to see if you could. I repaired the damage and hung a few more signs to tell you to “keep out” and “stay away.”
Then you got bold. Still uninvited and unwelcome, you smashed a big hole in my fence. You destroyed my flowers, tore up my lawn, broke my statue, and stole some of the fruits of my labor. The next morning I came out, shook my head, and began trying to repair what you had so quickly damaged. I planted more flowers. I seeded more grass. I glued the statue back together. I planted more plants and worked the soil.
I started to repair the fence, too, but it’s much more than a day’s work. And the next night, you smashed more of it down. Again, you destroyed my flowers. Again you broke my statue. Again you stole the fruits of my labor. This time, after eating more of garden, you left me a steaming pile of your excrement and a note that said I should be happy that you left me fertilizer. And again, I tried to repair the damage.
For years, you came by night to trample my flowers, to break my statue, to eat more fruits of my labor. And by day, I quietly tried my best to repair your damage.
But now, the fruits of my labor are not enough to satisfy your hunger. Now you raise your head and see my house. My home. My place of respite from the world. You are no longer content to stay in the garden. You are no longer afraid to come only at night, while I sleep.
So you approach my front door. Still uninvited. Still unwelcome. Still ignoring the signs that tell you to “keep out” and “stay away”. You edge closer and peer into my windows to try and see what I have inside that you can steal from me. Your hand reaches out and twists the doorknob. It’s locked. The only way in is if I let you in. Or if you break the door down…
Did you just hear that click?
It wasn’t me unlocking the door.
It was me taking the safety off my gun.
Will I pull the trigger?
Break down my door and you’ll quickly find out.