Every time I hear about a gun-related incident I sit back and try to understand the logic which led to the situation.

The recent one at Kentlake was no different.

While I was interviewing Kent School District spokesperson Chris Loftis, he made a good point. The incident was not a reflection of the school or the rest of the students.

At the same time I never quite know what to think when I learn another kid got caught with a gun at school. The worst thing I ever brought with me to school was candy.

It’s sort of like bringing a bottle of bourbon whiskey into a Baptist church and showing it around to everyone. There’s a time and place for everything, but, there’s also a time and place to not do it.

And some of them are kind of obvious.

Not bringing a gun onto school property like it’s for show and tell should also be a given — especially after Columbine.

What makes it worse is that Kentlake is in a more rural area, with a King County Sheriff’s precinct station a few miles away that recently held a training lockdown at Tahoma Junior High in the event of a shooting, SWAT and all.

It was also the day after a shooting at a California college and the same day a Bremerton first grader was released from the hospital after being accidentally shot by a gun her classmate had brought to school in his backpack.

It just goes to show how things could have gone very badly if any information had been miscommunicated accidentally.

Maybe it’s hard for me to understand because from an early age it’s just instinctive, like breathing.

Or maybe it was my upbringing. My dad had a way of getting his point across when I was a kid so that he wasn’t misunderstood.

When I was 4, my parents bought me a pair of aluminum cap-gun revolvers as part of my “Cowboy Bob” phase, even though I had no idea who Cowboy Bob was.

One day I jokingly pointed one of the revolvers at my mom. She promptly took them away and kept them until my dad got home. After explaining what I had done, my dad took me out to our backyard, put my revolvers on the patio then smashed them to bits with his sledge hammer while I watched in horror.

Little did I know that I was partaking in a Middle Americana initiation ceremony for what I like to call the “gun talk.”

The gun talk is sort of like the “birds and the bees talk” without the extreme awkwardness and Freudian euphemisms.

But the intent is still the same: to scare you out of your wits so badly that by the time the effects begin to wear off it’s no longer your parents’ problem.

Essentially, the gun talk is when a parent tells their child what guns are for, what they’re designed to do and what happens if his child ever does anything stupid with one.

During my “gun talk,” my dad spoke like George C. Scott from “Patton” as he explained to me that if I ever found a gun I was to never touch it, but find an adult and let them deal with it. I was also never to point a gun — not even a toy — at anyone under any circumstances.

Being the little first-year law student that I was, I asked him whether this rule applied to super soakers, hoses, Nerf guns and pop-guns.

He took the bait for about five minutes, then got off that tangent in order to tell me in graphic terms what happens when a person is shot by a hollow-tipped round.

Think of Nicholas Cage in “The Rock” explaining to Sean Connery the effects of VX gas on the human body.

At the same time, even without the traumatic demonstration, I would have known better not to point a real gun at anyone but it was a nice reminder of where my parents stood on the issue.

It also explained why they reacted like every adult from a Christmas Story when I asked for an air rifle for Christmas or my birthday, and why they had no qualms buying several for my kid brother, in addition to whatever else he asked for.

Yeah, the middle child doesn’t hold any grudges at all.

Having a gun talk with a child is no fun.

But part of the problem maybe is that they don’t occur when they should.