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How right you are.

I was born in NJ, to good decent Reagan democrat Catholic parents (who since have become Glenn Beck watchers). I readily absorbed the fear and loathing of guns, handguns especially, that exudes from NYC and blankets itself over liberal-topia. I associated their possession only with bad guys, cops or uncouth country bumpkins (can you say ignorant, reality-deprived, de-facto segregation-lovin’ hypocrites? Well, if you grew up in Morris County, NJ, you bet you can.)

Anyway, this is the story of how that all changed.

See my tagline? I’m not just a bumper-sticker copy-catter, but someone who was alone in my house one night with my two preschool-age children upstairs asleep (hubby was working night-shift), now living in southwest VA.

I was sitting at my computer downstairs working when I heard the outside screen door on my back porch swing and scrape and a loud thump.

In an time-altered state, I shut off the lights, grabbed the longest, sharpest kitchen blade I could, grabbed the phone and found a defensive position (there was no gun in the house, ‘natch.)

I call 911 (it’s about 11:00 Saturday night)

I tell the operator IN A LOUD VOICE that someone is trying to break in my back porch, please come quickly.

She, however, tells me “tonight is really busy, we’ll get someone there as soon as possible.” (Note I live in a city of 75K, metro 150-200K)

I hear another footstep on the porch, some kind of muffled noise and what I think is a hasty retreat. Then the door again.

I call 911 again.

This time more quietly I say “You don’t understand... SOMEONE IS TRYING TO BREAK INTO MY HOUSE and I AM ALONE WITH 2 SMALL CHILDREN...”

“Ma’am, officers are responding to several calls right now, can you actually see anything?”

At this point, I said something unprintable and volunteered her to come check it out for me. Realizing I was on my own, I VERY loudly added, “Thank God you have a car the next block over, yes he’s in the back.”

The perp must have heard this, because I heard the sounds of door slam and retreat post haste.

Then I called my Dad, who lived a bit away and asked him to come over, because I was afraid the guy might come back at some point.

Needless to say... at 2am, the police STILL had not come or even checked on me. I finally called them back (after my Dad was there) and told them not to bother because I no longer required their services. They didn’t seem to care either way. Nice.

That day, the last of my New Jersey-(in)bred fear and hostility towards guns died and was buried.

I finally *got* it. Thank God, I didn’t actually get it the hard way.