I just purchased my very first gun, a lovely 12 gauge pump-action shot gun. This may concern some of you. There is nothing worse than a eeeevil right-wing extremist who is armed.
I'm not a gun type person, never even fired one. I held one once as a kid, my uncle had a pistol that my mom hated. That moment was seminal. I never forgot what it felt like, cold and heavy. It was a dull gray color, and smelled of oil and gunpowder. He had a peculiar smirk as he handed it to me, a smile that seemed to say, "Here, take it kid, be a man."
Now I am 51 years old. I have lived in Montana nearly 30 years. Although Montana has a reputation as a fiercely rugged, individualistic place, somehow it took me this long to embrace this rite of passage towards becoming a real Montanan, dare I say, a real man.
On one hand I was reluctant to buy a gun, because a firearm is quintessential lethal force. The power of life and death is not one to assume lightly. On the other hand, standing at that gun counter in the store was as exciting as when I asked my wife out on our very first date.
The salesman knew. Obviously he had trod these paths many times. He had that somehow-familiar smirk on his face, one that reminded me of my uncle. "So you wanna buy a gun, huh?" he said with a wink. Hmm, did he say that, or did he really say, "Here, take it kid, be a man"?
I almost said that I was not some teenager buying condoms, but thought the better of it. After all, buying a gun might be like boarding an airplane. You just don't joke with the TSA.
My son had come along for his expertise. It needs to be a moment that is shared with your first-born. He already owns several firearms, and suggested a shotgun for "personal defense." He coolly informed me that in the heat of the moment, you don't have to be as accurate with your aim with a shotgun in order to stop an intruder.
On the back wall there was a rack with dozens of guns laid out in neat rows, some of which were unexpectedly expensive. This is certainly one reason I haven't owned a gun. I have other bad habits to waste my money on. My 67 Camaro convertible has received my financial devotion up to this point, so buying a gun (or a snowmobile, or a 4 wheeler) had never been in the cards.
So why the change of heart? Well, the world isn't as safe as it once was, and some big city problems seem to have made their way to Montana. Couple this with my belief in and admiration of the Constitution, I almost felt obligated.
I was surprised to discover how good it feels to exercise a constitutional right. You know, if the second amendment was treated the same way as other, more popular rights, not only would we acknowledge it - yes, celebrate it - we would be entitled to government funding.
Like my uncle's pistol, the shotgun I settled on was cold and gray. Fitting, I suppose, for an instrument of destruction. I didn't even know how to hold it, kind of like a new father with his infant child. I didn't want to drop it. The salesman indulgently showed me what to do.
I was surprised to find out that in Montana there is no waiting period. I walked in, filled out a form, they made a phone call, and I walked out. I thought that I would have to give a fingerprint, or a blood sample or maybe show a permission slip from Max Baucus or something.
So now I am proud gun owner, in the finest of Montana traditions. Or alternately, I am now a danger to myself and others.
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