When Dad started to feel the effects of chemotherapy in his fight against cancer he realized that his ability to reliably defend his wife and family were seriously impaired. No longer was he the large and imposing man (but gentle as a lamb) who could offer an evildoer a withering glare. He had grown weak and frail from debilitating treatments and could hardly walk let alone stand against an assailant, God forbid that one should ever cross his or Mom's path. So Dad, a man of peace if ever there was one, purchased a gun and acquired a permit to carry it on his person at all times. And he carried it, feeling just a tiny bit safer in the knowledge that he could at least make a decent effort to protect his wife while they traveled in strange cities on a long tour for survival from cancer. He took it to the firing range and became quite skilled in its use. Having the benefit of being around guns when he was a young man, he was a natural shooter who took pride in his ability.
We had talked on the phone once, after I'd gotten out of Army Basic Training, and we both agreed that it'd be fun to go to the firing range together and shoot at some targets. He was particularly proud of his officer's-model Springfield 1911, a weapon that was (and still is) commonly used by Army officers as sidearms when out in the field.
I've never owned a firearm, myself. Fired a few of them, all of which belonged to other people. Having joined the Army, I am abundantly aware of the potential need for a firearm when I deploy to Afghanistan next year. I've always had a sort of ambivelent feeling about guns, appreciating their practical uses but eschewing their sensationalized fascination in society at large. For me, guns are tools, not toys or showpieces. They are tools for survival and to be used only in extreme need. I figure that, once I deploy, having a sidearm would probably be a smart thing, even if I never use it, because weilding an M-16 in a computer lab can be problematic under even the best of circumstances.
Dad died a few weeks ago. Mom has been rooting around through his stuff and, today, she gave me Dad's prized Springfield 1911. I'm still not sure how I feel about this, but it at least takes the matter of cost out of the equation for me (guns aren't cheap when you acquire them legally). This is strange for me.
Now I own a gun.
Is that a good thing?