Living in a gun case isn't really living. A rant on cowardice, fear, and life. -I've never posted, and this all sounded so eloquent in my head. I guess we'll see.
These are a few of the truths I’ve learned, some more easily than others:
1. Life is not fair.
2. Life is not easy.
3. Tomorrow is not promised to any of us.
4. Life is what we choose to make it.
5. Life seems shorter the longer you live it.
And now, some random and poorly written text:
I won’t live in fear. I refuse to be a coward.
Why do we need so many guns? It’s been demonstrated that a person can only effectively operate one at a time. If you feel the need to own a firearm for personal protection, no problem, really. Go get yourself a pistol or whatever, learn how to use it safely, know where it is at all times, and keep it locked up. You now have everything you need to defend yourself from all the naughtiness and scary people out there. One gun for protection. Not an arsenal you feel is necessary to fend off every dooms-day scenario you’ve spent hours of your life imagining may occur, where you, no doubt, emerge triumphant, having defended your family in some Rambo-esque post-apocalyptic fantasy. One gun. You no longer have to keep track of where they all are. When you were cleaning them, did you remember to secure every last one? Where are the shells? Did one slip between the cushions of the couch? What if your kid finds it? What if he wants to be Rambo too, just like daddy? And shoot all the bad men.
Why would you want to live like that? To be afraid, to be a coward behind your guns? Is that really living? If any one of the terrible events you imagine happening actually does, and you survive, would you still call that living?
My in-law lost his father a few years back, and a few years too soon. He had a lot of guns, because he was scared of the bad guys and the naughtiness. He spent much of his time reading about the naughtiness. Thinking about it and how he could be less afraid. This takes time and money, both he could have spent with his boy, teaching him, laughing, making memories. He had passions and liked to create, was good with wood, made beautiful, hand-turned pens (I know this because I found one, and I asked). When I visit I never hear about the pens. I never see my brother-in-law showing them to my nephew, telling him how grandpa made them with his own two hands. Never hear him explain to my nephew how grandpa loved to create and bring some small piece of beauty into this world. All I know is he had a lot of guns, and he was afraid.
All his grandpa will ever be is a box of guns locked up in a case. Take the $400 you’ve been saving for a new Glock and spend the weekend with your family, or friends, or whatever. Live and make memories. Don’t die before you have to. Don’t rust away in a case.