Why I Want to Carry a Concealed Gun

The Truth About Guns ^ | 13 August, 2010 | Robert Farago

[ArrogantBustard]

Great guy -- and he carries a P7 like mine... '-)

How much did your P7 cost?

Whatever you spent, it was a bargain.

[B4Ranch]

>The “worst case scenario” justification should be enough to guarantee the exercise of my constitutional right. But will it?<

I’m not sure exactly why I don’t trust our government or the politicians who make the important decisions but asking them for a permit to carry concealed is just something that has never occurred to me. Then paying them to store that information just can’t be a good idea, can it?

I have never been patted down by an police officer in my 60+ years. However, I have drank coffee and shared jokes with many of them, shot at the range with a couple, asked directions from and even been ticketed by a half dozen. All the while, I was carrying a loaded Model 36 Chiefs Special concealed in an ankle or shoulder holster or had it tucked in a snapped jacket pocket conveniently close by.

If I had to go into a courtroom or city building I would leave it under the seat in my truck until I got back. More than once I have had to show it to local thugs to convince them that I wasn’t their best choice of potential victims.

Asking permission from strangers to carry the tools necessary to protect my family or myself has just never occurred to me. Registration is another thing that just rubs me the wrong way. Why should I tell the only people who possibly would confiscate my firearms what type I have in my possession? That just doesn’t set right with me for some reason.

I’m interested in any answers that you might have that can show me the error of my ways in the past 45 years.

[snowtigger]

I remrmber it for 50cents for fifty rounds, but that was so long ago, I didn’t think anyone would believe me... LOL

[ExSoldier]

I am not even given the opportunity to choose the option to protect myself and family or not.

Take up martial arts. Some of them, like Aikido or Jujuitsu require ZERO strength, just being limber is enough. In Aikido, no punches or kicks either. My former Aikido sensei once took out most of a New York street gang using nothing more than a rolled up newspaper. Didn't kill anybody but they were all laid out and cut to pieces pretty bad. This was like the 1970s. He taught us that little field expedient technique. Nowadays when I go to a city where my permit isn't recognized, the first thing I do is buy a newspaper, read a decent section that fits my hand well and then roll it up and put it under my offhand arm and go about my way. It's not a perfect solution but it's better than nothing.

[ExSoldier]

My daughter is now almost 30, and still drop dead gorgeous. When she was in high school, she was on a competitive dance team and all the boys were hot on the trail It got so that I started out handing the young monsters, I mean potential suitors a list of RULES for Dating my daughter:

TEN RULES FOR DATING MY DAUGHTER

Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you'd better be delivering a package, because you're sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter's body, I will remove them.

Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys your age to wear their trousers so loose that they appear to be falling off. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during your date with my daughter, I will use my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely to your waist.

Rule Four: I'm sure you've been told that in today's world, sex without utilizing a "barrier method" of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate, when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five: In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is "early."

Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don't you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter: Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool. Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight. Places where there is darkness. Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness. Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough for my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat.

Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which features chain saws are okay. Hockey games are okay. Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and live near the Everglades. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy outside of Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car - there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face watching you from the window is mine.

ONE TIME, my wife and I were going out on our own little "date" at the same time as our daughter. So we're all getting ready to walk out the door and as is my habit, I reach into a desk drawer pull out a 1911, rack the slide, and slide it into an IWB strong side holster (Milt Sparks Summer Special IIRC) and I SWEAR I didn't connect the two actions but my family to this day blames me. I said to the kid, whose eyes were the size of dinner plates: "Now, you're gonna have my little girl home on time, right?" He about peed his pants in his responses: Yessir, yessir!

[marktwain]

I believe you, because I bought it at that price many times. They sold .22 ammo at the Ericson gas stations. I remember specials where the price was as low as 44 cents for a box of 50. Then the President Johnson (one of the worst disasters to hit this country) managed to push through the GCA 68, and things were never the same again. Before that, it seemed that half the stores on main street of our little town sold guns, after that, a couple.

Of course, I have to say that in constant dollars, .22 ammo got cheaper and cheaper over the years. That penny a round ammo would cost about 6 cents a round now, in constant dollars, so prices have actually dropped.

[snowtigger]

Yes, but do you remember going to Army surplus stores and seeing eight rounds of 30-06 anno in the M-1 "en bloc" clips for a dollar. They sat in displays right by the cash register.

PS; if you remember this you must be almost as old as me. LOL...

[marktwain]

No, I don't remember the Garand enbloc clips at the counter, but I do remember seeing Springfield 03A3s in a “general” store stacked vertically in a barrel, muzzle down, at $29.95 each, no paperwork, pay your money and go. They were only one generation away from the then current military rifles. I also remember an NRA special deal to members of a limited number of M1 carbines, at $18 each. We tried to get some, but they were all gone. (We did get some of the $29.95 Springfields, we sporterized them, I still have one.

I bought my first pistol at 16 or 17 (I forget which side of the birthday it was) across state lines for cash, with no ID, though my father was with me. A perfectly legal sale just before GCA 68 went into effect. He knew I was looking, saw a good deal in a store across the border, and took me there to buy it. I still have it, a Colt Woodsman. It cost me $60, and was the sport and target model.

[11Bush]

I do not want to carry a weapon.
I do not want to have to shoot someone.
I do not want to live with the knowledge that I have taken a human life.

That being said, everyday I leave the house a Kimber .45 is housed in my belt. The world does not allow me to do as I ‘want’, it forces me to be pragmatic.