That father slaughtered his own kids. Don't blame it on the nut.
I think I've told this story before:
And it's funny, because none of my kids involved remember it. But they never fucked with any of my guns, after.
What I did, was take a pumpkin, and draw a face on it, and name it after my oldest son. The kids were small, and paid rapt attention as I began to play-act. I pulled out my Ruger .357, loaded with hollowpoints, and pretended to be a little kid, delighted at the bounty I had found.
I talked to the pumpkin, I sold my performance, all the while appearing to clumsily handle the gun, showing it to my 'oldest son'.
At some point, during the play, I jacked the hammer back, and 'accidentally' fired it into the pumpkin.
We all sat there, on the ground, our ears ringing, and covered in pumpkin guts, and I launched myself at the stump, and the shattered pumpkin, screaming my son's name, and begging for forgiveness, and...
Well, I think it worked.
Own guns. Teach your children well. If they cull themselves from the herd, blame the school you allowed them to be incarcerated in, mourn, and move on.
Or come home to some nut having turned your home into a slaughterhouse.