Good Gun, Bad Gun
Ahh—hook, line and sinker! Made you click! Haha, sucker. It was intentional. The title is dumb and doesn’t make any sense. I know that. But I also know it’s intriguing. There is no such thing as a good gun or bad gun. It’s merely an inanimate object, yet we give it so much credit. Why? Before you get your panties in a bunch and think this is some kind of political post—it’s not. This is actually a story about my personal experience with firearms from childhood through adulthood. It may shock some of you.
I grew up with an unhealthy fear of firearms, especially as a very young child. Before we are old enough to form our own emotions and opinions, we are influenced by those who nurture us. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but rather a natural instinct that we develop. For me, it was my mom. Therefore my reactions to nearly everything were a mirror image of hers. Although my recollection of events at such a young age are spotty, I distinctly remember having an uncle that we were shielded from. To my knowledge he wasn’t a bad guy. He was your typical biker gang member—covered in tattoos, intimidating, and likely considered an ‘outlaw’ by many. He carried multiple firearms on his person at any given time. That’s what they do! My mom kind of thought of him as reckless with these said firearms and therefore felt the need to protect us, as her children. That’s admirable. When my uncle would come over, my mom would keep us away and in a different room even. It was a direct result of fear. Can’t blame her. However as a result, her reactions carried over and became ours as well. Not a bad thing to be fearful of firearms, I guess. But looking back—I wish it was respect instead of fear. I have since learned the difference.
As you can imagine, I didn’t grow up with firearms in the house. I’m pretty sure our means of protection was a softball bat. Yikes! And although our home was robbed, we thankfully, never found ourselves in a position where one was absolutely necessary. But you never really know. It could have been a very bad situation.
Right after elementary school, my family moved to rural, like Appalachia rural, Southwest Virginia. It was beautiful but much different from Tampa, for us city slickers. It was country. The lifestyle was drastically different. We went from a publix every other block to having 1 Walmart in the entire county. I think the town we lived in had 2,000 people maybe. My old neighborhood probably had that many, to give you an idea. And although, we technically lived within “city” limits in Virginia, it was hardly a city. That was a loose term, very loose. It was a town at best. The neighbors were great. The old gentleman next door had chickens, even though it was against the city ordinance. None of these laws applied to Nelson though, he was there long before any of them were established. Good ol’ Nelson kept a loaded shotgun by his rocking chair, because that’s what you do in the country. Doors unlocked, gun in plain sight. No one bothers with it. I was always kind of weirded out by a shotgun just sitting there, especially since I visited with Nelson and his dear wife Gladys, every day. But I learned this was normal and respected that.
Behind Nelson’s house and about 5 others, including ours, was an incredible garden. I’m not talking small garden. This could have supplied the town, and many times did via the Farmer’s Market. I would watch my neighbor Roger tend to it daily and immediately became intrigued and asked if I could help. Nelson was already to the point where he couldn’t do too much, so help was desperately needed. Well, my role got serious real quick. A young, able-bodied kid that’s interested in helping—check! Apparently there were these things called groundhogs that existed. I had no idea what the heck they were. I told you I moved from Florida. But I was informed they were a nuisance to the garden and had to go. Ok, I get it. But how? Did I have to physically catch them?
Roger handed me a .22 rifle and told me to start taking care of them. “In my head, I was thinking what in the world do I do with this thing?” I recall telling Roger that I didn’t have a clue how to use this thing he handed me. After observing him a few times, I was ready to keep that garden varmint free! This folks, was my first introduction to firearms!
Now let me back track a bit; to the rocking chair and the shotgun that rested beside it. Nelson sat in that chair the same time every day, even on his very last day. This is the same chair that Nelson took his own life, using that shotgun, upon hearing of his cancer diagnosis. We were deeply saddened by this. I can tell you that shotgun no longer sat there after Nelson’s passing. I’m not sure I could’ve handled that, at 13.
A couple years later I was introduced to hunting by a friend. She grew up hunting with her dad and had shot firearms from a young age. I was mostly just interested in putting on the camo and sitting in the woods, if I’m being honest. I didn’t have a firearm. At that point I had only known that a .22 existed and a shotgun was used to commit suicide. I wasn’t overly thrilled at the idea of killing a deer anyways. I was just a spectator. She didn’t kill anything but it was still a cool experience.
I can still remember every Fall during high school, seeing the pick up trucks in the parking lot; giant deer in the bed and rifle sitting in the gun rack. Many of them friends of mine. They would wake up super early, kill their deer and make it to school on time. Can you imagine seeing this today? I never thought anything of it back then. No one did, because it was normal. It was literally how people lived. It’s how people put food on the table. It’s not how we did, but looking back, I have a better understanding of what it meant. It wouldn’t be until many years later and into adulthood that I would truly understand hunting and what it means.
After undergrad, Nick and I moved to Pittsburgh. Back to being a city slicker. Not so fast! We lived about 15 miles outside of city limits and spent minimal time in the city itself. Funny that we both grew up in big cities but have zero desire to be in one. That still remains true today! We aren’t about that sardine life! An interesting fact, If you didn’t already know, which you probably wouldn’t, Pennsylvania has the most deer hunters per square mile than any other state in the US. Wow!! In between Pittsburgh and Philadelphia is a hunter’s dream, minus the sea of orange in the Fall. And I don’t mean the leaves changing. I’m talking blaze orange from all the hunters. It’s a sight to see. I know this, because we became a part of it. Allow me to explain—
Shortly after Nick and I got married, we purchased our first puppies—GSPs. We were convinced to buy two. You can’t pass up a BOGO deal, right? We had already known about the breed and fell in love. The temperament was amazing and they were very active. We also knew GSPs were ‘bird dogs’ and used for hunting, but we had no intentions of that at the time. Gosh, looking back I realize what a great disservice to the dogs. After a few years and lots of research, Nick wanted to test the waters with upland hunting. After all, we had two dogs that were itching for birds. It’s what they live for. Ugh—the training, though. We should’ve started when they were pups. We weren’t into it then and didn’t know much at the time. You live and you learn!
Fast forward to now, we still have those GSPs and added a third to the clan. They have become the hunting dogs that they were bred to be. Nick has spent and continues to spend countless hours on training. Every day is a training session! We all look forward to the Fall every year because it’s our favorite time of the year—Hunting season! We get to watch our dogs do what they love and if we’re a good shot, it puts dinner on the table.
Just like with anything else, once you start to dabble, it leads to the next thing and the next thing. For us, having bird dogs and upland hunting has been amazing, but it also opened the door to more opportunities to further explore the world of hunting. I can tell you that it requires a huge investment; time and money. There is so much that goes into it that many people don’t realize. It’s not just a bunch of crazy people going to the woods and picking off an animal for the hell of it. I promise you this!
Although Nick and I came from different backgrounds, neither of us grew up hunting. But we are now apart of the growing number of adult onset hunters in this country. We appreciate and value the entire hunting process; from scouting to the meal itself. I never really had a strong opinion on hunting one way or another prior to becoming a hunter myself. How could I? I knew so little about it.
I literally went from being petrified of firearms, to appreciating a meal on the table. However, in between all that, I experienced immense tragedy. Losing my neighbor, Nelson by suicide with his own shotgun. Losing more than a handful of MY athletes in a 5-year span to gun violence. Learning that former athletes of mine are still booked on murder charges. It’s hard. It’s really hard. But, I know there is no such thing as a good gun or bad gun. We must learn to respect them for what they are. Yes, firearms have been used by criminals, to commit horrible crimes, but they are also used by upstanding people to put food on the table. Everyone has a different story and different experience. For me personally, learning about, respecting, and using firearms has brought opportunities that I will never take for granted.