Armed, Loaded and Cocked
 

Or How I Became a Gun Nut

by Jeff Dantre'

"I pull it from the holster. My nervous hand wraps around the cold, hard steel. My thumb grips one side, my pinky hangs out, my ring and middle fingers grip the other side. My index finger searches for the lever. My right hand rises till it's parallel to the ground. My left hand rises for support. My left eye shuts and my right eye finds the front sight, then the rear sight. Combined, they dangle before my eye. I hold my breath and I pull the trigger."

I'm a city boy but not a BIG city boy. I didn't ride the subway to school or play street hockey but I also didn't learn how to hunt, skin or gut.

My childhood was spent riding my bike, playing with Matchbox cars, building models, playing in the local creek and playing basketball till I was ready to drop. In the 1960's, Raleigh was a town with fewer than 100,000 people. I could ride safely around much of the city.

When I was about 10 or so, one of my older brothers gave me a Daisy BB gun for my birthday. My mother was none too pleased but she ultimately let me keep it. I spent time play hunting with it until I shot a Cardinal in the neck. I was crying when I brought the dead carcass to show my mom and dad. I learned the power of humans over animals. I also learned not to fire at anything that I did not want to hurt or kill.

Besides the Daisy BB gun, there were no firearms in my home, at least as far as I knew. We lived in a quiet, safe neighborhood. My dad was a thespian and an opera singer; my mother a homemaker and civic sort. It's not that they were anti-gun or anything. I guess they didn't see the need.

My family would drive 100 miles to the west to my grandmother's house for Thanksgiving and other times of the year just to visit. One of my uncles hunted from time to time and I always remembered seeing guns in a gun rack at his home. My mother told me that my grandfather took her hunting a couple of times shooting squirrels with a .22 caliber rifle.

My best friend grew up in the next block but his family also had two farms close by, one on the northside and the other on the southside of town. My friend and I would go out to one of their farms to hike around, bother the cows and on a handful of occasions, hunt and fish. Fishing for me was rowing the boat around and hanging out while my friend fished. As far as hunting, well my friend would loan me one of his shotguns while we went out shooting at dove or quail. I really didn't seem to have the patience to pursue this for long. I never hit anything but he did. I remember my squeamishness when he brought the birds back home to gut and clean them.

Never in my life had I fired a pistol, revolver or a rifle. Never in my life had I owned any sort of gun other than a BB gun. After 39 years, 342 days, all of that changed.

I've always been an independent sort. Like most Southerners, I don't like being told what to do. I don't expect to be told what to do unless I am somehow encroaching on someone else's life. Maybe it's that independent streak that pushed me over the edge. All of the gun control freaks telling me over and over again what's good for me. Or how about the Million Mom March, that Hollywood production. All those women, all those pawns. It could be the fact that my father-in-law is an enjoyer of guns. Maybe it's those endless facts and figures that I've reviewed over the past year from sources like the Justice Department and the National Safety Council. Maybe it's my basic fear of the government. It could be reading and rereading the Second Amendment and the associated findings by the nation's courts. It could be the simple idea that a gun is the only thing that equalizes a fight for women, especially for a 100 pound woman like my wife.

I finally decided that if I didn't decide to support what I believed in how could I be angry when someone else decided what was best for me. First, I joined the NRA. Yes, some veteran gun lovers don't like the organization, but it still represents the strongest voice for gun rights in the country. I also joined the Gun Owners of America. My wife joined the Second Amendment Sisters (men can only be associate members). It felt good to put my money where my mouth is. How could I do anything less? Those were the best dollars I've spent in a long time. But something was still missing. I still did not own a gun.

My wife and I had been discussing getting a self-defense weapon for her. We visited a few gun stores and spoke with her father who uses a small .22 caliber Beretta for this purpose. At one store, we saw a Beretta similar to her father's but this one was a
.32 caliber. I also investigated concealed weapon carry laws and purchased a book on the subject. But I still did not own a gun.

My birthday rolled around. It was one of those BIG birthdays. My wife's birthday is close to mine so her family celebrates both of them together. They were handing out presents before we went out to lunch to celebrate. Lo and behold, there it was, a gray case with what??? What??? There it was, a .32 Beretta Tomcat, with a box of shells and an extra magazine. Unbelievable. This thing scared me a little. Here I was a gun owner. We went to lunch but all I could think about was the gun. I took it out and looked at it, applying all that I knew about safely handling it. I couldn't wait to shoot it but I had to wait. It's not like some presents, you know. You can't just use it like a new stereo or something. It's an adult toy but it's also not a toy. This I was gonna have to think about.

About a week later, my father-in-law and I went out to the family farm to try out my new firearm. My wife was going to go along but she ended up having to work that day, so it was just the boys. It was one of those clear sunny days that starts out cool and end up quite warm and a bit windy. My father-in-law had brought out one of his rifles to set the sights for a future elk-hunting trip, plus his .22 Beretta and a Ruger single six .22 magnum. Ammo, targets and earplugs. Once we taped the targets to a tree, I was finally there. I checked to make sure the safety was on. I loaded the clip with seven bullets and snapped it into the Beretta. I popped open the barrel and loaded the final bullet. With my earplugs in place, it was a bit surreal.

The winds caused the target to flop around a bit. I set-up about 10-12 feet away which seemed to be the range I would use the weapon in a self-defense situation. I really didn't know what to expect from the recoil or the sound. Of course with the earplugs
in place, the noise was not much. The recoil was less than I expected. I fired through all eight rounds and popped open the barrel and removed the clip before proceeding further.

I then fired the .22 Beretta for a comparison. Only a slight difference. And then the Ruger which was easier to aim because of its longer barrel. My father-in-law then fired some and I resumed with my .32. This time, though, my father-in-law suggested that I take the earplugs out and fire the gun a few times so I would know what it would feel like in a real self-defense situation. Five shots later, my ears were ringing. Enough of that, the plugs went back in. That afternoon my aim got better and better and it seemed that in no time I was nearly out of bullets from my 50 bullet box. I kept enough ammo for the weapon to serve in its self-defense purpose while I waited for more ammo to arrive by mail. Regarding ammo, I investigated many, many web sites, comparing prices and types and ballistics. I even created a spreadsheet to ease the comparison. I quickly realized, as my father-in-law had earlier stated, the .22 is a better choice for target shooting because the bullets cost many times less. But I liked the .32 because it packs more punch but is nearly the size of the .22 Beretta. Perhaps we will get the .22 for my wife.

Yeah, when I try something new, I often go whole hog. My Beretta was no exception. I want to know as much as I can about it. I want to know how the gun feels, how it shoots and how it responds. It's like the first few months with a new car. You have to know what it will do, how sharp it will turn, how quick it will start and stop. And most importantly for a car and a gun, how dependable it will be.

Following the experience at the farm, I returned home with my now loaded gun. My new gun sits in its holster in a drawer.

How do I feel now? At first I admit I was apprehensive. But after getting to know the gun, I believe I have come to understand it. A key to understanding anything is to get over the fear. A gun is not something to be afraid of. Yet, a gun is something to respect. With this new thing in my home, I feel that I am assuming my proper responsibility for the defense of my family and myself. I feel like an adult. I even feel closer to God, interestingly enough because I've always believed that God expects each and every one of us to bear our own burdens, to carry our own responsibilities, not the government or corporations. So after 39 years, 342 days, I'm here. Yeah, I feel like a man.

Jeff Dantre’ is a 25 year veteran of the broadcast business involved in both radio and television journalism. He is a winner of the prestigious George Foster Peabody Award for his production of the CNN special "Coup d’etat: Seven Days that Shook the World", about the Soviet Coup in 1991. He is also the winner of numerous Associated Press and Georgia Press Association Awards. Jeff is currently a news anchor-reporter for a major radio station in the Southeast, where he resides with his wife Anne and their dog and cat, Raleigh and Oscar. He was born and raised in Raleigh, North Carolina.

Source: Sierra Times