I know people may not agree with what I'm about to say, it is controversial, so I'll just expound on my experience.
My dad, the redneck extraordinairre, came through on the way to Tennessee to his brother's funeral. This was Sunday.
After we talked outside for a while, I decided to go in because I was really tired and it was late. I thought Dad was following behind me but I looked up and he was going to his truck. I said, "Dad, what are you doing?" He says he said, "I need to bring my firearm in."
I didn't absorb that though, but later when he was cleaning his gun, he said, "Remember, I told you my gun had gotten wet and I didn't want it to rust?"
Anyway, I sit down on the couch next to dad, who had plopped down in my recliner. He dropped something on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, and it made this clanking noise. He asked if I had any oil? I said that I had skin so soft oil and baby oil.
I brought him the baby oil, and then he asked for a washcloth. I stil couldn't figure out why he needed that, but I gave it to him anyway.
I sat back down and relit my cigarette. We talked about his brother, how he died, where Dad was living now (an old missile storage base)and the status on him and his new wife (off and on).
He picked up the blanket an opened it up. I'm now looking at a dissasembled rifle. It was weird, but I was interested in how he put it together (3 snaps is all) and the kind of ammo he needed. I watched him clean it, shine it up, and finally he put it together.
Jackie became really interested and walked over and asked, "Papaw, what are you doing?"
I explained to her that unlike the toy gun daddy let her play with, without my permission I add, this is a real gun. I told her, we never touch real guns that the grown ups have put away because we don't know how to use them and that they can be very dangerous. I also pointed out that Papaw had faced the gun away from anyone in the room, and that's so no one could get hurt. He told her that even though Papaw checked and it's not loaded, he still points it away because that's the safe thing to do.
When Jackie lost interest and wandered away, I talked to Dad about the gun. He told me that from the time he was four he had an air rifle and that a family member had shown him how to use it. And all his life he's had guns, but no one in his 56 years has ever been hurt by his own gun.
He told me, "Melissa, if you ever want a gun, I can get one for you. But first you got to get a license."
I said "Dad, I don't trust myself with a gun, but if I ever owned one it would be a small caliber handgun. I wouldn't want something I couldn't control."
I couldn't believe I was having this conversation with him, because even though I grew up living with my uncle, and he always had guns, I never touched one. I was afraid of them.
And when I joined the military, I used an air rifle. I disassembled it and reassembled it, but I didn't particularly become attached to it or anything. It's not like I named it or slept with it or anything.
I've been around men my entire life that had guns (policemen, detectives) and family members, but I never had an urge to get one. Because I'm scared it will be used against me if I lost my nerve.
Recently, I have become horrified about the evil things people to do mere strangers. I thought about the hatchett my dad so lovingly made for me and sharpened it so that it would slice paper. That's all the protection I got.
I lived with Ms. Terry for a year, and she has a handgun. I only saw it once. She had been raped and beaten my 3 men about 15 years ago. She was let go by one of the men, who told her, "When he comes back, he's going to kill you. You got to get out of here." So, I guess she never wants to be defenseless again.
See, I don't think hotheads should be allowed to own a gun. Folks like that get pissed at somebody and shoot them. My dad's not a hothead, and neither is Ms. Terry. However, I'm an emotional person, and I think I'd forget something very important when it all came down to it and I'd end up dead anyway.
I guess I'll take my chances and keep my hatchett.
My dad told me, "All the thugs and other criminals have guns. But I'm a citizen of this country and it's my God-given right to have one. Guns don't shoot people, people shoot people." "You're right Dad, but I should't have one."
I'm glad for my dad that he feels safe with one.
I told my dad, "No thanks. Don't get me a gun. I'll be fine."
10:00 a.m. - 2003-09-05
Recent entries:
What you missed - January 16, 2012
%%older_entries%%From hell - October 19, 2010
%%older_entries%%a rant from a few weeks ago - August 17, 2010
%%older_entries%%Tired - June 20, 2010
%%older_entries%%A beautiful lie - March 11, 2010
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