Thursday, December 20, 2012

Guns and Snakes



 Last summer I was at a party and asked a friend, who was carrying a two-shot derringer in a belt holster (and showing it to everyone he talked to), why he thought he needed a gun when the only people in the room were friends and family and guests he had personally invited.
His answer? “You never know.”
Why is that always the answer? You never know. Really? Never? Can't you learn?
I've been reading a lot of online chat, arguments and anger about the murders in Connecticut. Twenty children and six adults massacred by a madman with his mother's guns. All of that is so Freudian and so sick that I can't get my head around it. The killer had been identified as “odd” by teachers and family members; a loner who showed no emotion. His mom was a “prepper”, a segment of the citizenry who, in their future-based, deluded fantasies, are preparing for Armageddon, which they are convinced is right around the corner. None of this stuff was a secret. There are no answers, yet, but there are plenty of opinions and haranguing and speculation including the old go-to crap about children of divorce and violent video games and porn and bullies, and god or no god.
Rick Perry, the insane governor of Texas, thinks school teachers should be armed. Remember your teachers? Which ones would you like to see waving a firearm while raging at a disruptive student? Are there too many guns in the US? I think so. Also too many knee-jerk strident third rate scholars defending their alleged second amendment rights and am I the only one who is tired of old horseshitters who keep banging away that “cars kill people too, so do you want us to ban cars?” If you don't see the difference, then you definitely shouldn't own a gun. Or drive a car.
Crazy people are everywhere and they are not going away. There are not many services left to deal with them. I'm currently living in Paris and I can attest to the presence of angry, drunken, wild individuals who are unable to integrate into society; I am really glad they aren't armed. Yeah, I know that Anders Breivik killed 85 people at a youth camp in Norway last year and there are instances of gun violence in other countries, but nothing like the overall body count we rack up in the USA.
Aurora, Colorado; Virginia Tech. There is no shortage of information about these killings. Nutty, angry men with access to plenty of guns.
One thread of comments theorizes that America's “war” mentality and international military presence supports a feeling of conflict and the need to be armed and vigilant. That sounds too easy and political. Overall, we are a very young country and still somewhat adolescent, undereducated, insular, overbearing, quick to anger and seek revenge, confused about the value of life. In ways it feels as though we are a developing nation with too many guns, too many loopholes, not enough oversight.
I can't realistically expect the elimination of firearms. That would be impossible because there are too goddamned many of them owned by dangerous assholes who are not about to give them up. What are we going to do, go house to house and confiscate them? That's a surefire path to a bloodbath.
I have many friends who own and shoot firearms. I have a family member who always (always) carries a concealed weapon. So does his wife. And his son. One of my best friends is a firearms instructor and has at least 50 personal handguns. I worked in the criminal justice system for years with decent people who owned and used firearms. I also knew, and worked with, mass murderers who ranged from from calm, funny, and educated, to pissed off, frightened and stupid.
I was one of the last people to shoot a classic .45 caliber Thompson Submachine Gun before it was retired to a museum. Packs a punch I can tell you. I've used shotguns, rifles and handguns on ranges and in the wilderness. I've had guns pointed at me by angry guys, and I was almost shot once, accidentally, by a brain-dead neighbor while I was hiking on the mesa behind my house in New Mexico. The neighbor and I had a serious discussion about gun safety that afternoon. I live in a town where a lot of the residents, men and women, own and carry handguns. Some are quiet about it, others are constantly bragging and blathering about their “piece”. Silly. Scary.
In the bad 1980s, in California, I sometimes carried a gun at the request of a friend who was a coin dealer. He paid cash for coins and silver, legally, and he'd go to private homes for “jewelry parties”. He'd bring expensive diamonds and rings and bracelets to a big house in Sausalito or Tiburon in Marin County and give deep discounts to friends of the wealthy homeowner. All transactions were in cash and I accompanied him, Glock in pocket, to make sure that no one robbed us. I was often drinking and using drugs and it is lucky that the wife of some venture capitalist didn't get plugged in her liposuction. That was thirty-five years ago and I am grateful and relieved that we all survived. Bad times in the 80's.
When I was a kid I took an NRA firearms safety course and learned how to use a weapon and to stay alive while doing so. It was a good thing to know. In my own limited way, I understand many of the uses and possible abuses of firearms.
I work hard to be a realist and I can't think of a way to gather in all the guns on earth and melt them down into plowshares or iPads and then we can all hold hands and live in Rainbow Land. That horse is out of the barn. The bell has been rung. The pistol has been fired. I can't see a way to undo the juggernaut of gun ownership and entitlement.
A guyI know bought a gun last year. He was constantly talking about international conspiracy theories and was manifesting more and more worry about the “roving bands of dangerous criminals” who would break into his house and kill him for his food. I don't know when this was supposed to happen. He bought a handgun and talked about it. A lot. I think he felt better and bigger. He spent hours on the internet checking world financial markets and currencies. He was diagnosed with cancer in March and died in August, still afraid.
Bad guys have guns; good guys have guns. Bad guys use stolen and unregistered firearms. The Pittsburgh father who accidentally shot his seven year old son to death in front of a gun store didn't know his legally purchased and registered gun had a round in the chamber. A breach of basic handgun safety. It happens much too often. We can't legislate against stupidity, or poor memory, can we?
The good news, if that can even be considered a concept at this point, is that dialogue has started and congress and our representatives are going to have to pay attention. Lobbyists may find it a little harder, I hope, to give away gun money to anyone but the most conspicuous congressional whores. The NRA has deactivated their Facebook page, for now, but you can bet that they are gathering their membership, working on clever press releases and digging into their wallets. Harsher penalties for irresponsibility and gun crime are being discussed by elected representatives with an eye towards their next campaign. Mental health evaluations and deeper background checks for purchase of firearms are a possibility. We're all talking about it in coffee shops, bars, schools and even the revered Facebook. With a nation where there are 89 guns for every 100 citizens and there were over 30,000 deaths by firearms in 2007 and over half of those were suicides, that has to be good, right? Talk? Conversation?
A few years ago there were a lot of snakes on my property. Big fucking snakes. I don't like snakes. A primitive, mythological, faux-Christian response, I guess. They would show up on the back patio, quietly eying me when I went outside to read. I stayed in. We had a hot tub and there were plenty of tasty prairie dogs around. The tub was hot and moist all year long and was an ideal herpetarium. The snakes lived underneath it and even when I was lying back looking at the stars, I couldn't stop thinking about what was slithering only a few inches under my naked body. I had the tub removed, and that afternoon I watched as several snakes wriggled away.
At first, I just stayed inside a lot. I'd look out the front and back door to make sure there was nothing coiled, waiting. If I went for a walk and saw a five foot long bullsnake, I'd turn around and jog home. I don't own a firearm, don't want one, but due to my fear of snakes I bought a Benjamin pump action pellet gun. I had one as a kid and it was fun to shoot, easy to use. I kept this one by the door and about once a year, when I saw a snake on the acreage behind the house, I'd shoot it. I was fighting back. So I went from total fear, to killing my perceived enemy, innocent though the poor animal was. I also read a lot about snakes.
I shot a few snakes, watched them die, picked them up with the fireplace tongs and dumped them over the fence at the back of our property. I felt, momentarily, safe. Fool. I knew I couldn't shoot all the snakes in New Mexico.
I was fearful and then I was deadly and then I was interested in my fear and decided to take charge of it. Last year I was hiking in a flat, hot area near where I live and there was a snake lying across my path. Big-assed reptile. Easily over five feet long. I examined it, watched it warming itself in the sun, and then I stepped over it and continued my walk. I came across that same snake several times during the summer and I didn't mind seeing it at all. I have learned about myself and my environment and the creatures that populate it and, for me, that has been the answer to snake-fear.
Somebody else might still need a firearm to address their fears and I can only hope they don't point it at me, drink, have anger issues, are clumsy, prone to sadness, holding a grudge from high school, have recently lost a job, are celebrating a winning season for their favorite sports team or think that they've emptied the weapon before tossing it in the backseat while I'm in the car.

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