Posted on 08/14/2010 6:50:39 AM PDT by marktwain
Two nights ago, my daughter’s boyfriend asked me “Why do you carry a gun?” I told him I had the right to protect my family. Wrong answer. My “right” wasn’t in question. Nor should it be. My unconditional right to bear arms is enshrined in the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. Says so right there: “the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” Infringe as in “to limit or undermine.” So the Rhode Island concealed carry process, which asks me roughly the same question as my first born’s squeeze (and a bunch more queries besides), violates my constitutional rights. But it’s still an excellent question. The correct response: “I have an obligation to protect my family.”
To which many gun rights groups would add “and myself.” Same thing. The survival of my favored genetic legacy (both blood and adopted) is my prime directive. I can’t protect my family’s interests if I’m dead.
So I do what it takes to make sure I can do what it takes to make sure my loved ones live, and live well. My home-defense handgun is a means to that end: a tool to help me protect my family.
While the vast majority of Americans understand, appreciate and support the idea of owning a firearm for self-defense, there are those who would infringe upon my right to bear arms by limiting it (as much as possible) to home defense. As is the case here in Rhode Island.
Further afield, the Supreme Court’s recent McDonald decision recently struck down Chicago’s handgun ban. But it singularly and spectacularly failed to address Windy City residents’ right to bear arms wherever they choose. In fact, the Court’s affirmation of “reasonable” restrictions more of less upheld Chicago’s—and thus Illinois’ and Rhode Island’s—proscriptive concealed carry laws.
Simply put, post-McDonald, if a Chicago resident holding a legally registered firearm puts so much as one foot outside their door, even onto his porch, they can be arrested, fined and jailed. Here in the Ocean State, I face the same penalties if I take one step off my land whilst armed.
Where’s the sense in that?
Does the right to maintain effective self-defense begin and end on your doorstep or your property’s perimeter? Common sense suggests that the right to bear arms is a hundred times more important out there. Beyond your “castle” walls. Where the real monsters live.
Every day, gun violence strikes someone down in this country. Most of the time, it’s gang-related. Illegal drugs account for the next largest chunk of the poisoned pie. Avoid gangs and illegal drugs and you reduce the threat to your safety a thousand-fold. Yes but . . .
Check out Women dies saving granddaughter at signonsandiego.com:
Sharrel Blankenbaker, 63, sacrificed her life last week when she stood up to an armed kidnapper who was pulling Cassidy into his truck at an Amarillo, Texas, gas station . . .
They stopped at a Love’s truckstop and store for drinks and a bathroom break. It was when they were walking back to their car that an overweight man in a cowboy hat and boots jumped out of his pickup and latched onto Cassidy’s wrist.
“He pointed a gun at me and told me, ‘Get in my truck.’ My grandma wouldn’t let him,” Cassidy said.
Her grandmother got in between them, yelling at the man to get away.
“He shot her, and I had gotten my arm loose from him. And I started running away, but he chased me,” Cassidy said.
Her brother, who had already carried his younger cousin to safety, came back for Cassidy. They ducked behind the counter of the gas station.
Then another man came in, frantically looking for his daughter.
The kidnapper had her. He had forced her into his pickup as she was walking along the road with a friend.
After relaying a description of the truck to 911, Potter County sheriff’s deputies pulled over Gary Don Carner, 58, who died in an exchange of gunfire. His 11-year-old captive was able to flee from the pickup and jump into a ditch.
Earlier that night, Carner had failed in attempts to kidnap two women.
This tragedy is statistically irrelevant. You can round down the chances of a random perp kidnapping your/my child at a gas station to zero. If you want to take an effective step to keep your children alive, teach them to buckle their seat belts whenever they get in a car.
Also, who’s to say that Granny could have used a handgun successfully? She may have shot her granddaughter by mistake. Or someone else’s kid. Hell, they all could have died in a gunfight. Not to mention the fact that her granddaughter might have shot herself accidentally before the family members even hit the road.
The average concealed carry handgun owner understands these risks. Some, like myself, train to minimize them. But we’ve decided to carry a gun on our person because we want the power to defend ourselves and the ones we love against out worst nightmare. As is our right.
At the moment, I’m restricted to home carry. Later today, I’m going to write a letter to the Providence Police explaining why I want a license to carry a concealed weapon. I still don’t know what to write. The truth: I want to protect my family against the unthinkable. How do you explain that without sounding like a nut?
The “worst case scenario” justification should be enough to guarantee the exercise of my constitutional right. But will it?
How much did your P7 cost?
Whatever you spent, it was a bargain.
>The “worst case scenario” justification should be enough to guarantee the exercise of my constitutional right. But will it?<
I’m not sure exactly why I don’t trust our government or the politicians who make the important decisions but asking them for a permit to carry concealed is just something that has never occurred to me. Then paying them to store that information just can’t be a good idea, can it?
I have never been patted down by an police officer in my 60+ years. However, I have drank coffee and shared jokes with many of them, shot at the range with a couple, asked directions from and even been ticketed by a half dozen. All the while, I was carrying a loaded Model 36 Chiefs Special concealed in an ankle or shoulder holster or had it tucked in a snapped jacket pocket conveniently close by.
If I had to go into a courtroom or city building I would leave it under the seat in my truck until I got back. More than once I have had to show it to local thugs to convince them that I wasn’t their best choice of potential victims.
Asking permission from strangers to carry the tools necessary to protect my family or myself has just never occurred to me. Registration is another thing that just rubs me the wrong way. Why should I tell the only people who possibly would confiscate my firearms what type I have in my possession? That just doesn’t set right with me for some reason.
I’m interested in any answers that you might have that can show me the error of my ways in the past 45 years.
I remrmber it for 50cents for fifty rounds, but that was so long ago, I didn’t think anyone would believe me... LOL
Take up martial arts. Some of them, like Aikido or Jujuitsu require ZERO strength, just being limber is enough. In Aikido, no punches or kicks either. My former Aikido sensei once took out most of a New York street gang using nothing more than a rolled up newspaper. Didn't kill anybody but they were all laid out and cut to pieces pretty bad. This was like the 1970s. He taught us that little field expedient technique. Nowadays when I go to a city where my permit isn't recognized, the first thing I do is buy a newspaper, read a decent section that fits my hand well and then roll it up and put it under my offhand arm and go about my way. It's not a perfect solution but it's better than nothing.
TEN RULES FOR DATING MY DAUGHTER
Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.
Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.
Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys your age to wear their trousers so loose that they appear to be falling off. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during your date with my daughter, I will use my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely to your waist.
Rule Four: I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.
Rule Five: In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."
Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.
Rule Seven: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?
Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough for my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat.
Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.
Rule Nine: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and live near the Everglades. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy outside of Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face watching you from the window is mine.
ONE TIME, my wife and I were going out on our own little "date" at the same time as our daughter. So we're all getting ready to walk out the door and as is my habit, I reach into a desk drawer pull out a 1911, rack the slide, and slide it into an IWB strong side holster (Milt Sparks Summer Special IIRC) and I SWEAR I didn't connect the two actions but my family to this day blames me. I said to the kid, whose eyes were the size of dinner plates: "Now, you're gonna have my little girl home on time, right?" He about peed his pants in his responses: Yessir, yessir!
Of course, I have to say that in constant dollars, .22 ammo got cheaper and cheaper over the years. That penny a round ammo would cost about 6 cents a round now, in constant dollars, so prices have actually dropped.
PS; if you remember this you must be almost as old as me. LOL...
I bought my first pistol at 16 or 17 (I forget which side of the birthday it was) across state lines for cash, with no ID, though my father was with me. A perfectly legal sale just before GCA 68 went into effect. He knew I was looking, saw a good deal in a store across the border, and took me there to buy it. I still have it, a Colt Woodsman. It cost me $60, and was the sport and target model.
I do not want to carry a weapon.
I do not want to have to shoot someone.
I do not want to live with the knowledge that I have taken a human life.
That being said, everyday I leave the house a Kimber .45 is housed in my belt. The world does not allow me to do as I ‘want’, it forces me to be pragmatic.
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