I heard gunfire in my neighborhood in Philadelphia growing up. Once a bullet fired by police at robbers at the corner store to the right of our house went through my parents' bedroom window late at night.
I've fired guns in Africa, and hunted a bit. Never felt good about taking even animal life, especially as easily as pulling a trigger.
Then we drove through Mocambique once to the ocean, that lovely pure Indian Ocean, and saw a burning village, deserted, but my brother and I swear we saw some bodies lying in the smoke as we peered out the windows of the Land Rover. My dad didn't stop! A few minutes later we passed a patrol of armed men marching rather raggedly and laughing away, obviously elated and buzzing from adrenaline. I'm certain these men had just burned that village and killed villagers. I'll never forget how I felt!
I hate guns. I've never needed to have one, and I pray that continues.