'Luckily He Was Usually Drunk and a Bad Shot'
A reader recalls a frightening childhood:
Guns were a big part of my life growing up in rural Florida. I had a small, lightweight rifle my step-father gave me to shoot with out back. My mom (born and raised in suburban New Jersey) learned to shoot and used a pistol to shoot critters who came in our back yard.
My step-father was a skilled gunsmith who did repairs in our family-owned gun shop while my mom worked the counter. Between the ages of three and six, I went to work with them during the day. Unfortunately, a gun shop even then was a target for thieves. The shop was broken into several times. My parents got guard dogs and the dogs were poisoned and the shop still broken into. Eventually they gave up.
Unfortunately, my step-father continued his love affair with guns.
He worked as a sheriff (before he was thrown off the force—and you can imagine how bad he was to get thrown off a sheriff force in rural Florida in the 1960s). He decided to use his guns to keep his family in line.
If the kids didn’t line up to be beaten for some transgression and ran off (if one of us did something, his philosophy was to beat us all), he shot after us. More than once we went hightailing it away with shots hitting the road behind us. Luckily he was usually drunk and a bad shot.
So my experience with guns was intimate and informs my judgement today. Guns are weapons that can escalate to fatality very, very fast. I am not comfortable around them, and am glad I live (and will continue to live) in a state that regulates them strongly.
