When we first moved here to this quiet little suburb of the big bad city I was pegged as the gun guy. One neighbor referred to me as The Sheriff because he thought I was in law enforcement. I had many neighbors question why I felt the need to have gun(s). I can just call 911 right?
I can also call 911 if my house is on fire but I still have a fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink.
About two years ago during a terrific storm a giant tree fell down across our street, making it impossible to pass. The neighbor who was the biggest proponent to “just call 911” couldn’t get through to 911— none of us could. The storm had done so much damage around the area that the circuits were jammed. A bunch of us got our our chainsaws and cleared the road so that if someone needed emergency services they could get through.
Most of my neighbors are comfortable with me as the “gun guy” (my favorite is a mother of two who happened to be standing in a circle with a few of us when one of them said to me “why do you carry a gun?” and she replied “because its his right.”) but there are still one or two who just couldn’t understand it. Our neighborhood was one of the safest in the area. We don’t even have porch pirates. People don’t lock their doors or their cars. It’s so quiet here at night you could hear a pin drop.
But, as I would often say, sounding like Chicken Little to some, “Bad guys can drive you know. It’s a nine mile ride to one of the worst crime areas in the city.” My reasoning being if I were a criminal and I knew this quiet little neighborhood was anti-gun and didn’t lock their doors and often left packages out all day long (and sometimes overnight) maybe I’d point my car this way and clean up.
Well murder came to our quiet safe little neighborhood. The guy who committed the crime was indeed from the bad area and he killed a father of several children before killing himself. While the 20-25 police cars blocked off the street and detectives and uniformed cops poured up and down the street the neighbors all congregated at my house— and several of them asked me to explain the process of buying a gun in Massachusetts.
Because although its as important as a fire extinguisher, it’s far more involved. The woman who has been my staunched critic about it pulled me aside and said “I finally get it.”