Another thread about anti-gun families sparked me to ask my mom how she felt about guns. I always thought she was neutral on the issue even though she gave me my first "real" shotgun for Christmas when I was sixteen. Anyway, I stopped by her house today after work and during the conversation asked her. Indeed she didn't really care for them but is fine with others having them. Anyway, she then told me this story which I had never known:
About thirty-five years ago, she was a single mom with my me and my sister (five and nine years old). She started receiving strange/threatening phone calls. Evidently, it continued long enough that she decided to buy a handgun. The day she bought it, she said that she was sitting at the kitchen table trying to figure out how to load it. That same day she said she had called the police because she saw some damage to the back door and was worried that someone had tried to break into the house. A detective stopped by evidently while she was struggling loading the gun. She told the officer that she had bought this gun and was going to shoot anyone who tried to break in, but she couldn't load it. The part that makes me proud is that he wasn't condescending or negative. He asked her if she had ever shot it (which she hadn't), and then he asked her if he could take her to go shoot it. So he drove outside the city limits, showed her how to load and unload it and then let her shoot it.
My hat is off to that officer. My mom and I laughed about it, but it makes me kind of sad for her having to feel afraid back then and struggling to figure out how to defend herself. Nowadays, there is a sign advertising concealed carry classes on every fourth corner around here. By the way, that first "real" shotgun she gave me was a Remington 870 that sits next to the H&R twenty gauge single shot that I carried for five seasons.
About thirty-five years ago, she was a single mom with my me and my sister (five and nine years old). She started receiving strange/threatening phone calls. Evidently, it continued long enough that she decided to buy a handgun. The day she bought it, she said that she was sitting at the kitchen table trying to figure out how to load it. That same day she said she had called the police because she saw some damage to the back door and was worried that someone had tried to break into the house. A detective stopped by evidently while she was struggling loading the gun. She told the officer that she had bought this gun and was going to shoot anyone who tried to break in, but she couldn't load it. The part that makes me proud is that he wasn't condescending or negative. He asked her if she had ever shot it (which she hadn't), and then he asked her if he could take her to go shoot it. So he drove outside the city limits, showed her how to load and unload it and then let her shoot it.
My hat is off to that officer. My mom and I laughed about it, but it makes me kind of sad for her having to feel afraid back then and struggling to figure out how to defend herself. Nowadays, there is a sign advertising concealed carry classes on every fourth corner around here. By the way, that first "real" shotgun she gave me was a Remington 870 that sits next to the H&R twenty gauge single shot that I carried for five seasons.