…about guns

Several months ago, I began seriously thinking of purchasing a handgun. It was an entirely new train of thought. For all but approximately the last 12 years of my life, I never had a thought of owning a firearm. (Yes, I played with toy guns as a preadolescent male— who didn’t?) Had never even held one in my hand, much less shoot one. No reason to, as far as I could figure. Sure, a case could have been made for having a gun to protect my home and family from intruders. But for me, there was always the question of readiness. Keeping it loaded and ready for action in an emergency during a time when we had children in the house. Owning a gun? Absolutely not, despite my (then) wife suggesting otherwise. Keeping it safely locked away, but then having it handy in the case of an intruder, was like oil and water; the two just didn’t mix. Case closed.

Even when my family circumstances changed — no more kids in the house and, eventually, divorce — I never considered having a weapon. It was against my DNA, I guess. But when one of my best friends moved to Texas, where I live, and started buying guns and wanting me to join him at the shooting range, I had my introduction to weaponry.

It didn’t take at first, guns and me. It was an ‘interesting’ experience, for sure, that first time. But nothing more than that. Even at the outside shooting range, the boom of the various handguns and rifles was a shock to my system. Except for a couple of the handguns my friend brought along, the recoil was uncomfortable. Considering it was my first time, I wasn’t a bad shot. Of course, hitting a target a mere 10 or 15 feet away may not have been a feat worthy of pride, but….

Each of the subsequent times I went shooting with my friend — always at indoor firing ranges — I felt more comfortable, though the rattling boom of rounds being fired indoors was even more pronounced. But I didn’t enjoy it enough to want to go again anytime soon, if at all. It was only at my friend’s behest that I would continue to go shooting, and even then it was few and far in between. Somewhere along the line, though, my attitude about guns began to shift. I had always considered the whole ‘gun thing’ as a redneck activity; it always had a racist, rural, good ole boys taint to it. That was my image of the stereotypical gun nut. But going to the range allowed me to see a different side of it. I’d see families indulging in the sport — moms and dads with their kids (sons and daughters); guys with their girlfriends or wives— replete with handguns, shotguns and assault weapons, doing something they enjoyed. They couldn’t all be militia men and women, honing their skills for when the ‘race’ war broke out, or in case they had to protect themselves from the ‘gov’ment.’ They were just regular folks, partaking of a sport the way I indulged in my sports of choice: basketball (in my younger years), off-road biking and racquetball (until fairly recently) and now, swimming and some weight training (pursuits my chronic back pain would allow).

There has been a sea change regarding my perspective on guns, and not too long ago I actually suggested to my friend that we go shooting, ammo on me. We contemplated on which of the 35 or so weapons he owned we would bring, settling on the AK-47, AR-15, Taurus 9 mm, PMR 30, and the Beretta. It would be my first experience with the AK-47, but the others I had shot several times before, and they had become favorites of mine.

Just recently, my friend texted me a link advertising a Taurus G3C 9mm for under $300. It’s a comfortable-feeling handgun that ‘carries’ conspicuously. For the first time, I could feel myself seriously considering purchasing a firearm. But what would I do with it? Keep it at home for ‘protection’? Is that where the real danger to my person is? Maybe in the car? Not much better than keeping it at home.

Now, I’m at the meat of the matter. Do I even want to ‘pack’ it? That’s a serious matter. What psychological effect would packin’ heat have on me? And what sort of circumstance would require having to use it? Am I capable of shooting someone, with the real possibility of killing them? And for what? Out of a perceived threat to myself that, in hindsight, was really no threat at all? Then there are the legal entanglements involved in discharging a weapon in public, whether warranted, unwarranted, or the third. Could I possibly be putting myself in more danger by having a weapon on my person?

I still haven’t quite sorted out how I’d feel walking around with a gun on my hip. This is all foreign territory for me, a frontier I would never have imagined setting foot in a mere dozen years ago. I moved to Texas from Pennsylvania over 30 years ago. Since that time, I’ve never considered myself a Texan. Wouldn’t think of it. Upon arrival, I despised the arrogance of its populace, whose general attitude insinuated it was doing the rest of the nation a favor by being a state. I think deep down, many Texans still consider it a ‘republic.’ The Lone Star state. How appropriate.

And here I am. With a gun. And a concealed weapon holster. So, so … Texas!