[I wrote this many days ago, but I’ve been afraid to post it. As the title says, it’s about
guns.]
I can't remember the first time I went hunting with my dad. Hunting was just
something my dad always did, just like his dad, and his dad before that, and he
let me tag along as soon as I was able to keep up.
Hunting wasn’t all we did. On weekends in my family, you went hunting, you
went fishing for salmon, steelhead, trout, bass, whatever you could catch,
things like that. Sometimes, we'd camp way up in the mountains in the Sierras, you could only get there by four wheel drive, and we'd pan for gold on a claim we had. I think now of the environmental damage we must have done using a ventura to vacuum up the bottom of the stream, run it through rockers, then pan what was left - the stream would get muddy and cloudy as far as you could see downstream - though the trout fishing didn't seem to diminish much. We still have little bottles of gold and a few quartz nuggets from those days. My dad and brother also rode dirt bikes, as my do several
cousins and uncles, and my brother was a ranked rider until he hit something in
a race in the desert several years ago, punctured a lung, broke some bones, and
he decided (was told by his wife) that was enough of that. It wasn’t his first
accident. I rode bikes a few times, but never saw the attraction so I left that
to others in the family. My brother was a defensive lineman at Oregon State
University (about the time Marcus Allen played for USC, they played against each
other), and seems to have a much greater tolerance for tearing himself up
physically than I do, so that probably explains the difference in tastes. One of my uncles raced hydroplanes, but, like my brother
his racing came to an end after he got married and had a family. He didn’t have
an accident like my brother did, but my aunt saw one too many accidents with
other boats, one deadly, and that was the end of that. So he bought a ski boat
instead and that was another thing we did a lot.
But back to hunting. I can't think of a single male relative who doesn't hunt
now, or who hasn't hunted in the past. They all had hunting dogs as well. My
grandfather had a shepherd of some sort, gray and white, and you didn't dare use
the word "chicken" in the dog's presence as he would go nuts thinking you were
taking him pheasant hunting. But apparently he couldn't hold a candle to the dog
before that, good old "Bo," who could literally herd pheasants your way as you
hunted, fetched ducks, loved kids, etc. We had a pointer, a Brittany spaniel,
and my dad and I spent many weekends taking her out when she was young, training
her how to hunt (e.g. stopping her from bolting after the birds at first scent).
People invested a lot in their dogs, and boasts of who had the best hunting dog
were heard frequently, it was a point of pride. I’m still amazed at the way
pointers work and they way they can hold a bird. I still like watching them work
a field.
As we hunted, and at other times, my dad and my grandfather would tell me
stories about how many ducks and geese there were in the good old days, before
their numbers started to decline (the mascot at my dad's high school in Yuba
City was a "honker," still is as far as I know). There’s a certain something in
their voices as they talk about it, awe, a sense of loss, I don’t know what
really, but they made it seem like something you wish you had seen. Two of my
relatives are really into duck hunting. One's family has been in the area I grew
up in since it was settled, or nearly so. He's a rice farmer mainly, though he
grows lots of other things too, walnuts, Lima beans, wheat, and I don't know what else, whatever he thinks will be profitable,
and he has always done quite well. He's a member of an exclusive duck club in
the Butte basin adjoining his property; it’s a club where it's hard to get a
membership except by heredity. The club only allows hunting twice a week - the
rest of the time the ducks are left alone. When I lived there long ago, there
were a few movie stars that were members, Robert Stack and George Kennedy come
to mind, so it wasn’t impossible to get a membership as an outsider, but it
wasn't easy (both had filmed movies there – the town is in California but looks
very southern, particularly the courthouse, so the movie studios used the town
to shoot movies with southern scenes and that's how both of them found it – they
used to show up at the golf course where I worked picking up range balls so I
could play for free and that was always kind of fun.).
My uncle and cousin had extensive knowledge of ducks, I was always surprised
by how much they knew. They'd see a duck flying pretty far away and could tell
you if it was a wood duck, pintail, teal, widgeon, etc. When they hunted, they
were pretty picky and would only shoot certain types, letting the others go. If
you ever get the chance, crawl up on ducks that are settling for the night, when
there are thousands and thousands together and they roll like a wave. The sound
is incredible, and if you can get close without them knowing, it's an
opportunity you should take. It’s something to see (but please, for those of you
who know what I'm talking about, leave the shoestrings in the truck...).
People I grew up with were just as crazy about hunting as people in my
family. In high school, we'd party until early into the morning, then a lot of
my classmates would get up before dawn, go to the blind, set out the decoys if
they weren't out already, then sit there in the cold, rain, and fog waiting for
ducks and geese to fly by so they could call them in with their duck calls (even
I know some of the different calls you use to try to lure them in). I went to
the parties, no doubt about that, but left the early morning duck hunting for
others. They seemed to think it was great fun, but I could never ever see why. I
went a few times with my dad or relatives when I was young, but declined
invitations as soon as I was old enough to realize I could say no. People where
I grew up were pretty crazy about ducks and talk of duck hunting dominated a lot
of conversation, both within my family, and among my friends. Not all of them
were into it, but enough, and everyone had some sort of acquaintance with it. A
lot of them refilled shotgun shells as well, you don’t buy shells if you hunt as
much as they do, you buy the powder, wadding, casings if needed, firing pins,
etc. and assemble them yourself with the aid of a machine. Some people in my
family had these setups, and though we didn’t have one. But I still know how to
refill shells just from helping friends and I could always use their machines.
One thing for sure, we were never short of gunpowder (and that wasn’t always a
good thing, but that’s another story).
I followed the usual progression: Lots of exposure to guns, my own BB gun at
age seven or eight, gun lessons and a shotgun by age 12. One thing, though, that
I want to emphasize is how much respect for guns and gun safety was drilled into
my head from day one. There were things you did, things you didn’t do, and it
started from the very first time you tagged along just to watch. I won’t even
try to detail all the rules, but anyone who knows them also knows that
Vice-President Cheney did not have this kind of training (don’t know why I would
expect someone with his background to have had it, he plays like he’s one of the
hunting types, but wearing the costume doesn’t give the knowledge you get
growing up in this environment). If he had the proper training and respect for
guns, the accident would not have happened. When you are hunting, you don’t
swing past the line. Never, ever, ever, ever. You don’t do it, and it’s not okay
to do it just this once even if it’s the best opportunity you ever had in all
your days hunting. You walk in a line, you stay in the line – it’s dangerous to
fall behind or get out in front so you keep everyone in sight and make sure you
are in formation – and you only shoot in front of the line. When a bird takes
flight and crosses the line, you let it go. Period. There are rules, and you
depend upon everyone following them to the letter.
One time I took my BB gun to my grandfather’s. I wasn’t allowed to shoot it
in town where we lived, and never did, not even once, but my grandfather lived
out in the country, there wasn’t another house for miles, so we were allowed to
shoot there (but only BB guns, not 22s). During the visit, I was shooting cans
or something with my older cousin, and we broke one of the rules. Somehow, my
grandfather found out about it and my cousin and I were told we could not shoot
our BB guns there anymore. I was probably 9 or 10 at the time and I was crushed
to have disappointed my grandfather, absolutely crushed. I can still remember
how bad I felt. I was eventually allowed to shoot there again, but not for quite
awhile, and it made a huge impression on me. I don’t think I ever consciously
broke a gun rule after that. In my family, and it was no different among the
people I knew, if you broke the rules, even once, they never asked you to go
hunting again. They might let someone like Cheney tag along, but he wouldn’t be
allowed to bring a gun, not with his history. The rules covered all sorts of
things. As an example, if anyone in my family ever saw me intentionally shoot
something that I didn’t intend to take home, take the time to clean, and eat,
they would never hunt with me again (I absolutely hated the cleaning part, that
alone was enough to stop me from wanting to hunt as I got older, setting aside the entrails -please - ever try to pluck a snow goose?). If you shot a
dove out of a tree instead of in flight, that was considered to be unfair and
you’d be ostracized. As I said, there were rules, and you followed them.
I think I saw a handgun once or twice growing up, but rarely. On those few
occasions, the person handling the gun didn’t seem very careful to me, and it
made me nervous (you check to see if a gun is loaded every time you pick it up,
no exceptions, even if you set it down fairly recently, and it started with
failure to do that simple safety check). I just wanted it put away. Shotguns,
22s, rifles for deer or elk hunting, those were mostly what you saw (and rifles
were rare too, it was mostly shotguns). We didn’t much worry about protecting
ourselves, that’s not what the guns were for. We probably locked our doors, but
we didn’t have to, it was pretty safe, everyone knew when there was a stranger
in the neighborhood. And though the guns weren’t kept for that purpose, anyone
contemplating breaking into a house knew, or should have known, that most people
had a shotgun and their house and people who knew how to use it. And use it
well. There was just no need for handguns.
I understand the problems handguns cause in big cities. Well, as much as I
can understand from having lived in one for three and a half years. Other than
that I’ve lived in mid-size cities or small towns in rural surroundings. I read
somewhere recently that rural voters are one of the key elements in the race
between Clinton and Obama. If so, and this isn’t news to anyone, they need to
tread lightly on the gun issue. To people who grew up like I did, guns aren’t
just something that are used for hunting, they’re a symbol of a way of life.
Sadly, an uncle of mine passed away recently and not long after I was presented
by my father, rather ceremoniously in its own way, with a gun that had belonged
to my grandfather and had passed through my uncle’s hands. I took it – I still
have the 20 gauge one I got when I was twelve years old, and another old 12
gauge Winchester (another of my grandfather’s guns I was given when he passed
away). I had to take the guns, even if I wanted to get rid of them I couldn’t do
it while my dad was still alive, and even then I’d give them to my brother or
someone else in the family – there’s no shortage of options. I don’t even have
12-gauge shells any more I don’t think, but the guns themselves have a long
family history and I will likely pass them along to my kids someday, or to their
kids, who knows. I have another gun that belonged to my grandfather’s dad’s, a
really old pump, my dad called it a riot gun, and for all I know it’s worth
something. But I’ve never checked and don’t plan to. It too will stay within the
family.
Maybe if I’d spent more time in a big city and observed first-hand the
troubles that handguns can cause I’d feel different about the whole gun issue,
but anything that might force me to have to register the guns I have, give them
up, anything approximating that I would resist. I can remember seeing my
grandfather wearing his vest and hat, carrying that Winchester hunting pheasants
in sugar beet fields, the wheat and rice stubble, riding with him in his pickup
as a kid on the way there with the dog hanging out the window itching to get
started. Those are wonderful memories, and having the guns is somehow connected
back to all of that, to my family history, to time as a kid with my dad,
grandfather, uncles, and cousins. It recalls a way of life I no longer live, but
it will always be with me. I can’t exactly explain how guns fit into all that,
but I know that they do.
I don’t know if this helps any of you understand the gun issue better or not,
I hope it does. It’s not just a bunch of bozos in funny hats drinking beer and
shooting stuff just to kill it (beer is not allowed). I have let the tradition
die, I didn’t teach my sons or daughter how to hunt, or even how to shoot guns.
I can take a shotgun apart, every single piece, clean it, and put it back
together, and could from a very young age, but my kids don’t know how to do that
and probably never will. I feel kind of bad about that, about not passing
certain traditions and knowledge along, and I wonder what the guns will mean to
them when they get them. They probably won’t mean much, not in the way they have
meaning to me, they don’t connect to memories of time with family and friends,
or to a way of life. They’ll be something they remember from my house, if they
even remember at all since they are hidden away out of sight. Maybe somebody
will make a few bucks someday selling them once there’s little meaning left. I
guess it’s okay that I didn’t pass the gun thing along, maybe losing cultural
connections to a way of life that involves guns isn’t so bad, though I have to
admit part of me wonders if I shouldn’t have done more. I guess I want them to
have the same memories I have, the same connections to me that I have to my dad,
and the outdoor-type image has some attractiveness I suppose. I don’t know.
There’s something about getting up early, trudging in the cold through wet
fields until you and the dogs are dead tired, often coming up empty-handed but
somehow that didn’t matter, generations of family together sharing stories from
the past, and creating new ones to be told in the future. Because of all this, I
think, I resist restrictions on guns. I guess it’s my history but I can’t
logically explain why I resist more control over guns other than what I’ve said
above. I don’t have any problem with some restrictions, e.g. waiting periods,
bans on certain types of guns, and I don’t have much use for handguns, so
restrictions on those don’t bother me too much, but I would have trouble with an
outright ban on all handguns. And, sorry, but I’m not giving up my shotguns. I’m
not about to register them with anyone or tell the government that I have them,
and the government is not welcome to come into my house and see if they are
there (I guess they could read this). I know there are no plans to do this,
that’s not a real worry, but there are surely limits on what I would be in favor
of.
I have no emotional connection to the problems guns create in major cities. I
see it on the news, read about it, but it’s not real. Where I live now, there’s
not a single area of town I wouldn’t walk in, unarmed, alone, any time of the
night or day, and this is an urban area of around 200,000 people. The small town
I grew up in is even safer. The fear that I suppose exists for a lot of people
about guns doesn’t affect me or the people around me. The gun issue is far from
the most important thing for us to worry about, and there is very little for a
politician to gain by taking on the gun issue if rural votes are important for
winning. I don’t have any particular message to deliver, and I don’t mean to
preach, I don’t even think I’m very logical on policy issues where guns are
concerned so I won’t offer any. I just wanted to write down a few of my
experiences, explain how guns are connected to my past, hoping it might help
people see this issue through other eyes.