My Gun Culture is an interesting thing. I didn’t even know there was one until about six years ago. In fact, I was pretty convinced that My Gun Culture involved anti government militias and people that shot critters.
Then a funny thing happened. My grandfather gave me a .22 target pistol that he bought “maybe 20 years ago.” I dug a little deeper and found out it was a 1936 Colt Woodsman in pristine condition. So I finally got up the nerve to take it to a shooting range and step in to My Gun Culture, just for a few minutes.
What I found was pretty interesting. People there seemed to treat each other with, well, respect. Hmmm. I figured I would step in a few more times. One thing led to another, which led to more visits to that range, and then another, and before you know it, I had even started going to a trap and skeet club. Funny thing. People there were old and young. Men and women. Parents, kids, siblings, friends. And they were nice. And respectful. And honest. At any given time there might be a hundred grand worth of fancy competition shotguns lying around. Completely unattended. And no one cared.
I found something pretty neat in My Gun Culture. Something good. Maybe some remnant of what our country’s founding fathers envisioned. Respect. Politeness. Kid’s addressing men and women as “sir” and “ma’am” far more often than not.
I think I can get used to My Gun Culture. It’s not a bad place.