It has been about eight years since I practiced target shooting and about five years since I sold my beloved handguns for a song to cancel my license. In two minutes, I searched the furthest corner of my brain and took a deep breath. "Well..." I said as if I would break into the Isley Brothers Shout, and for ten minutes, I gave him the 101 on rifles, handguns, revolvers and automatics and different calibers.
He was fascinated.
Naturally, his next question was, "Can I have a gun?"
"Maybe," I said because I knew his chances of getting married first were far greater.
Then again, we could always move to Pennsylvania where he can own a machine gun if he wants (and we could get cases of Stoudt's). Still, it seems kind of drastic to uproot a whole family in order to be legal gun owners - in a state with virtually no crime. They have a lot of cows, though.
Prying off his shoes, he started huffing towards his 19th nervous breakdown. I'm thinking it's because of my answer. So I tell him more about the responsibilities, the code of using weapons and not to mention, the cost and red tape. As he's listening, he grows more agitated until finally, he interrupts me.
"So, if there's a bunch of zombies attacking us, you won't give me a gun?"
"Oh don't be silly," I say, "of course, I'd give you a gun if there were a zombie attack!"
He releases a sigh of relief and goes about his merry way. Meanwhile, I'm glad all is well again but did I seriously just have this conversation?
|Art by MRusso (daddy) - rifle magazine & chicken bones that didn't make stock|