My father owned a .22 rifle when I was a kid. He made sure that I, and my brother and sister, knew proper gun safety; how to safely handle weapons, load, unload, clean and everything connected with gun safety that he knew, he passed along to us. I will be forever grateful to him for his teachings, and he may have even saved my life.
I have great memories of growing up in Oklahoma City and going out to some remote location where our family would spend a day hiking, picnicking, finding a stream, floating cans and bottles and taking turns shooting at them or at targets. It was a very different time in America (yeah, I know, but nobody was concerned about the environment in those days), and we did not live in fear, as do many people today.
From a very young age thanks to my Dad, I became comfortable and confident in handling any weapon and did not grow up in fear of guns because of it. I did grow up respecting firearms and always handle a firearm assuming it’s loaded. Years later, my later father-in-law and I went out so he could show me how to handle a gun. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I already knew, since he took great pride in instructing me.
After I put six rounds pretty much in the bullseye, he beamed that he had done such a good job teaching me how to shoot. Years later, we shared great laughs about it when he learned about my background with firearms from my Dad when they had an opportunity to meet.
When I lived in Fairbanks, Alaska during the pipeline project in the 1970’s, when there were an over abundance of men compared to woman, I spent many nights alone. I always felt secure knowing I had a loaded handgun on my nightstand. While I always hoped I’d never have to use it, I was happy to have it when one night someone attempted to break into my home in the middle of the night.
