When I was kid growing up in Fort Lee, N.J., my father decided on switching careers. He and his brother had inherited a deli/grocery when their father died many years before I was born. Both had toiled long enough at a dying business with back breaking hours. The decided to sell the store. My uncle stayed connected to the business, buying a Thuman's Meat route and making an excellent living for the rest of his life. My father, in a sense, re-invented himself. Now in his 40's, he had decided to take the Civil Service test and become a law enforcement officer. He passed with flying colors. Even though my father had been deprived of pursuing his education by circumstances beyond his control (oh, things like the
Depression, his father's early
death, and
WWII to name a few!), he had a quick, curious mind, was an avid reader, and, most importantly, had a genuine thirst for knowledge. I'd can only hope that I've inherited those same traits. Anyway, it should have been no surprise that he did well. He joined the Bergen County Sheriff's Department as an officer where he served until his retirement. I'm thinking that I must have been 8-10 years old at the time.
He took his new position very seriously. He taught us to that anything worth doing was ALWAYS worth doing well. And he lived that. As part of his duties, he would be required to wear a hand gun and be proficient in its use. He had served for 4 years in the military during WWII and had seen his share of combat. So, he already knew how to handle a weapon AND the responsibility associated with that duty. To familiarize himself with his service revolver and become an expert in its use, he would practice with it in front of his bedroom mirror. He would take aim in the mirror, target style, not combat, cock the hammer, squeeze the trigger and "click", discharge the weapon. He would do it over and over again. I would here him from my room; "click", pause, "click" pause, "click". It would eventually drive my mother nuts and she would yell out, "Joe, that's enough". Just like a mischievous child, he would squeeze off one or two more before stopping for good.
He never hid his weapons from us. Rather, he took the mystique out of them by teaching us how they worked, how they should be handled and, most significantly, the responsibility associated with even TOUCHING one. A healthy respect, boarding on fear, was instilled in us for what a gun was FOR and what it could DO. We NEVER took even the presence of a hand gun lightly.
As part of his training, he would join other law enforcement officers at the shooting range in Lodi, N.J. on Saturday afternoons. It was located, as Bruce Springsteen might say, "somewhere in the swamps of Jersey". I remember it well because my father often brought me with him. In addition to the target practice, it was a social affair with lots of hot dogs, beers, and bullets. And I remember partaking in all three - although the beer was just a taste - for the overall experience! It made me feel like one of them and it was great.
It should be noted here that my father was no "hard ass" cop or gun "worshipper". In fact, he was one of the most fair minded and gentle people I have ever known. Still. Like his approach to most things, he felt that knowledge was the key. People had to make strong decisions based on solid thinking. And they needed to understand the consequences of their actions. Of course, he applied this to guns. But he also applied it to practical, everyday things, too. The first thing he told me when he gave me my first driving lesson was, "Frankie, a car is a weapon. It can kill. So driving must be approached with the utmost seriousness and respect." I still use that line whenever I teach someone how to drive!
Ultimately, the point that I'm trying to make is that people have to understand the VERY NATURE of what guns ARE and the PURPOSE they serve. This was always made very clear to me: guns are made to kill. That is why the slogan, "guns don't kill people, people kill people" trivializes a deadly serious situation. There is in this country a gun culture that uses that mindset to advance its agenda i.e. "people are bad, but guns aren't". Well, folks, who do you think use guns? Gerbils?! When bad people get their hands on a gun, terrible things are bound to happen. This weekend in Arizona is just the latest example of what can happen when a deranged person gets their hands on a weapon.
People immersed in gun culture usually respond by saying that if one of the victims was also armed, the tragedy might have been avoided or at least mitigated. Oh, BULLSHIT! Bullets would have been flying everywhere and more would have been killed. A better response would be that the assassin should not have had access to that gun in the first place!!
No. More people with more guns is not the answer. The culture that accepts gun violence as part of its daily existence is doomed to lose it's children to that very violence. It's a beast that will consume itself. Gun violence in Black, inner-city communities is epidemic. Guns in school have become a common occurrence. People solving their difference though the use of guns and violence is all over TV and films. Now, politicians regularly suggest using violence against their opponents. None other than that master of punditry, Glenn Beck, regularly suggests the use of violence to deal with his foes. Music videos, rap songs, commercials, video games, all trivialize and glorify the use of GUNS and VIOLENCE. It's no wonder that the Europeans, who learned from the carnage of WWII and have largely rejected gun violence, often look at our culture and shudder. No folks, guns don't kill people, but sick minded people who have access to them do!
I don't dismiss gun owners or enthusiasts. I still own my father's which I inherited after his death. And I appreciate them for their role in history and, sometimes, even for their artistic beauty. However, the issue is the culture that worships guns without restraint, without stressing the responsibility and, therefore, the consequences of owning one. Sure, good, solid citizens are responsible gun owners. But what do we do with the ones who are not? Do we arm everybody? My mom's 87. Does she get one? Come on, now. We all know that's not possible. We have to put the damn guns down. Everyone. Lock them away and get back to talking to one another before it's too late.
PS: By the way, my father's weapons are locked in metal safe, where they will remain. Even though I am still fascinated by them, and it would be a way for me to connect with my father's memory, they will stay unused. It's may way of putting guns and the violence associated with them aside.
