I was 12 years old when I saw my first dead body. “Calvin” wasn’t much older than me, and he lay there with two bullet wounds through his head that slightly protruded from the other side. I can only remember trying to avoid that fate, even though sometimes it felt inevitable. The more gun violence and death I saw and heard about, the more numb I became to it. At that age, in that environment, you don’t appreciate life and death.