June 1994	Women & Guns 

Dear Self-Reliant Reader,

	It's hard to believe that it's June already.  When you are a
mother your calendar runs from the day school starts to the day school
ends.  In between is a muddled, mixed-up time known as SUMMER
VACATION.

	As a child, I remember that it meant Father's Day and his
birthday. (Also a German chocolate cake for each celebration_his
favorite.)

	My father has been deceased for many years.  I regret that he
never knew me or any of my siblings as adults.

	I really wish he could have played with Miss Splendiferous,
Miss Spectacular and Mr. Stupendous and his other nine grandchildren.

	My father would be proud of his children.  As a first
generation American, he instilled in us a tremendous love for the
freedom that our country offered.  He was constantly reminding us that
it was something to be treasured and safe-guarded.

	My father was a Life Member of NRA, an avid duck hunter, a
skeet and trap shooter and a strong proponent of the right to keep and
bear arms.

	I first handled a firearm around the age of seven.  My father
took me into the side yard and set up some soda cans on bales of hay.
He brought a BB rifle and a "pellet gun" (as opposed to the one that
we weren't allowed to touch).

	He shot first. Then he showed me how to load the BB's, look
through the sights, take aim and fire.  The noise was explosive so
close to my ear.  I was startled and shaking slightly. After several
attempts, I was shocked when a can finally fell over. I would like to
think that it was my talent as opposed to a gust of wind.

	Next we tried the handgun.  It looked like an automatic and
fortunately for me was powered by a CO2 cartridge.  (I'm lazy).

	I was hooked.  I wasn't any better with the handgun, but it
was fun!

	My next exposure occurred not too long after when my father
took me one afternoon to the Skeet and Trap Club.

	He gave me lambs' wool for my ears, a pouch to pick up the
shells that I shot, reminded me to keep my glasses on and then led me
to the front lines.

	I was terrified.  The noise was unreal.  The smell of powder
was overwhelming and the constant shouts of "pull" had me totally
confused.

	He shot first.  Then he loaded a gun for me and led me to the
line.

	Of course I went through a box of shells and hit nothing.

	My arms ached from holding up the great weight of the gun.  My
shoulder was numb and my cheek was raw.

	I learned several things that afternoon.

	First, always hold the gun tight and watch your face.

	Second, shooting is a safe and fun sport.

	Third, my father must think a lot of me to share this special
time with me.

	As I grew older, I became more adept at reloading shells.  I
graduated from a .410 to a Sweet-16.  When I was about 18 my father
let me use his gun_a custom .12 gauge Browning.

	I continued plinking with the air pistols_ usually going after
the pigeons that constantly roosted in the eaves of our house.

	My father also continued to teach me that firearms' ownership
was a right.  Like the right to free speech, religious freedom and
others, I should remember that diligence was required to maintain our
rights. That's why my grandfather had come to this country.

	I don't think that my father would be surprised to see me so
involved with the Second Amendment.

	I think there are a lot of things that would shock him.  But
the violence, the disregard for human life and the constant, senseless
abuse of individual rights shock me too.

	As summer begins, it seems right that I should remember those
special times with my father.

	Who could forget going with him at five a.m. to the duck blind
so that he could go hunting and still be at work at eight and I could
be at school by 8:30 a.m?

	I recall vividly the first duck that I shot and being scolded
because I didn't see where it fell because I was in shock.

	I still remember finding dead ducks staring at me from the
shelves of the refrigerator where they resided while waiting to go to
the taxidermist.

	And sneaking Beau, his liver-spotted English setter, into the
house. He was worthless as a bird dog, but the biggest love in the
world. He would rush to my father's side where he would usually find
some chocolate waiting.

	It also is right to salute the father of my children.  He
works tirelessly to defend our rights.  He also spends special moments
with them that they will remember fondly in later years.

	To all the daughters and sons reading this column, I hope that
your memories are as special.

	To all the fathers, Happy Father's Day!