My Life
... as a gun toting liberal
Yes, I am a gun owner. And yes, I am a liberal. And, I do not
try to hide either label, nor do I find them to be at all contradictory. Then again,
I also don't find anything contradictory in my statement that I'm a staunch libertarian
with extreme socialist tendencies, but that's really a subject for another page.
My experience with firearms started very early in my life, as is often the case with people who aren't rabidly afraid of those things that go bang. It was something to do with my dad. It was a bonding sort of thing.
The first experience I can remember shooting anything was shooting a .22 rifle up on my father's ranch (I think), zillions of years ago. I'm a bit fuzzy on the time and place, but I do recall seeing the box of ammunition, and thinking how small those bullets looked, so I'm probably right about it being a .22. And, if I'm not right about any of this, I'll just remind you all that memories are themselves inherently unreliable, and tell one more about themselves today than they say about anything that happened yesteday. Then again, that's another subject for another page.
I don't remember too many other details about that day of target practice, but I am guessing that I was probably a pretty lousy shot. Well, being bad at something just makes it more interesting.
I don't recall any further dealings with firearms until my adolescence, when my family lived in Colorado Springs, and my father would take my older brother and me out for target practice with his handguns. He had (I assume still has) two handguns, one a really oddball .30 calibre German Luger (from an abortive attempt on that company's part to sell to the US), and one of those "lemon squeezer" .45 automatics.
I have to say that I distinctly disliked both guns, particularly the .45, because the recoil always felt as if it'd rip my arms off. Perhaps that was all part of the grand design: developing a healthy aversion to firing the stupid things, so I wouldn't go on to do anything even more stupid on my own. Sadly, it didn't stop me, but that's probably a subject for still another page.
So, rather than spend my time honing my aiming skills with things that go bang, I stuck to BB and pellet guns of ever increasing power. As I got more and more fond of the sport of plinking things with small pellets, I became more of a fan of the notion of high power, low calibre firearms, mainly for target practice. I remember promising myself to someday purchase a .17 calibre rifle, which is what I considered to be the epitome of the breed.
I never did. I did eventually get back to target practice, and in the process became attached to one rifle enough that I decided to buy one for myself. It's a .223 calibre semi-automatic lightweight rifle, with the longer, heavier barrel intended for those who like plinking targets. It also has a pistol grip, something called a "muzzle brake" (I know what it is, but don't feel like explaining), and has detachable magazines that'll hold 20 or 30 rounds each.
In other words, my high-power low calibre target plinking rifle is what other people commonly refer to as an "assault rifle." Which makes me a bleeding heart liberal with an assault rifle.
Now, understand that I have little desire to own or operate the hardware that most people think of when they think of assault weapons: fully automatic things, or those nasty looking pistol things like Uzis. They operate in entirely the wrong direction. They use up bullets (= money) too quickly, throw big slugs, and not very far. They are indeed intended for stopping people in urban areas. Who needs them?
No, I prefer the same sort of bulky, easily jammed piece of hardware that our country sends with our teenagers out in the middle of nowhere. Minus a couple of the more destructive positions on the safety switch, of course.
As I said, I make no secret of the fact that I own this thing, or that I'm a liberal. In fact, I'm fond of telling people that I'm a "bleeding heart liberal with an assault rifle, and that allows me special dispensation." This stops most people dead in their tracks. They don't really know what to think of a bleeding heart gun-nut.
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