Of Family and Firearms - Part 2

My father’s been gone—not run-away or missing gone, but deceased—three years now.  He was a good-natured man with no interest in guns.  Never felt a need for firearm “protection,” not even when a criminal he helped convict threatened to kill him once the prison sentence was over.

Papa was invited on a deer-hunting trip once, even though he wasn't a hunter.  It was a known fact that his presence added to the fun on any occasion.  He agreed to go, keeping in mind there would be bourbon, barbecue, and gin rummy at the end of the day.  But he had no idea what a long day it would be.

I wish you could have heard him talking about his brand-new concept of Hell.  It involved getting up before daylight and being driven to a deserted place in the woods— said he sat for hours all by himself, sitting on his “frozen ass,” waiting.  In total silence. He had absolutely no desire to shoot a deer; in fact he hoped he wouldn’t even see one.  It was more the early rising, the fact that he could see his breath, and the lack of companionship that contributed to his misery.  The silence had to be the greatest torture of all for a man who generally had two or three television sets going at home and music always playing in his law office.  There was relief rather than disappointment that his day didn’t include bagging a deer.  No doubt he transformed his hunting experience into a rollicking tale that night.

Besides savoring a memory, my point in sharing the deer hunting story was this:  In my family of origin there's no paternal influence for any fascination with firearms.   There was no fear or hatred in my father to warrant having a gun to take someone’s life should they interfere with his.  It simply isn't in the DNA —on either side of the family.  So I continue to be puzzled over this pistol-packing transformation that’s spreading like a fungus in my family.

My younger brother isn’t the only gun toter.  I can name at least three other relatives who proudly “carry” now— and who apparently stand ready to blow you away if you do—what?   Never dreamed we’d need a metal detector for holidays at Mama’s. 

One of many things I'm scratching my head over today is the insanity of our ever-growing hard-right/Tea Party culture.   Many of these fearful gun owners are also self-described  “Christians”—fundamentalists or evangelicals for the most part.  At least two of my kin are anti-choice advocates.  Now understand, these “pro-lifers” applaud the death penalty and seem totally unconcerned about people dying in wars, unless maybe it’s someone they know.  And they carry guns!  Contradiction?

None of the family gun carriers lead high-risk lives or live in crime-ridden areas.  Quite the opposite.  Tell me, where’s the faith that’s supposed to come with religious conviction? 

I’m a spiritual person who’s not religious, and I feel perfectly safe making my way in the world.  Sure, I’m sensible; I lock my doors and such.  But I definitely don’t have the fear, hate, or whatever else it might take to want anything to do with a gun.