California Cousins

by Jamie Spaulding

     Several years ago, my parents, as is their practice every couple of years, hosted a family reunion for my mothers side of the family. This particular reunion was to be special because my late, maternal grandfather's only living sibling was coming and bringing her two grown daughters with her. Many of us had never met the daughters as they had never accompanied my great aunt on her few visits back to her Tennessee home.

     You should understand that all of our reunions involve shooting. After the mid-day meal and prior to the evening feed, while many are pitching horseshoes or washers, others of us head out to the back pasture with handguns, .22s, .38s, .45s, 9mms and such. Also a few rifles, mostly AR15s and AKs and SKSs. Besides the local family, our shooting sessions are heartily enjoyed by our Michigan cousins, as they love shooting but lack the open spaces necessary for it in the suburban Detroit area in which they live.

     Since I was on my parents' farm surrounded by my loved ones and friends, I was not wearing a concealment garment. I was proudly displaying my stainless customized Colt Combat Commander behind my left hip in an Akers Special Agent belt slide. On the off side to balance things out were two stainless Chip McCormick 8 round Shooting Star magazines in a Dillon Leather double mag pouch.

     Our California cousins irrefutably ended the argument pertaining to genetic or environmental influences and which has the most effect on people as they mature. They did have some family resemblance. That's where the genetics stopped. Both seemed to be stereo-typical, left coast, airheads. Both were past forty and neither had ever been married. They spent much of the day swinging each other on the tire swing, (much to the chagrin of the preschool aged family members who were miffed at the two “Yankee ladies” hogging the swing). And they loved to look at the woods and fields. And I'm sure they would have liked to have hiked somewhere other than the quarter mile long gravel driveway but they had heard us tell some of the kids heading down to the creek to watch out for copperheads in the woods and cottonmouths in the creek. That ended any thoughts they might have had of cross country excursions.

     During the first feed of the day,with eating people scattered all over the back porch and yard to take advantage of the shade, I noticed the younger of the two old maids (they were old maids, even by Tennessee standards which are the most progressive of all the southern states) eyeballing my cocked and locked, slab sided, belt accoutrement. When she noticed me noticing her, she asked if I were expecting trouble. I said "No Ma am, if I was expecting trouble I'd have a rifle and so would all the men here. And we wouldn't be on the porch.... We'd split up into the woods on each side of the house." Family members close enough to hear the conversation all gave a little laugh and hoped she wouldn't say any more. They had all seen me on the soapbox, with flags waving, & the fife and drums playing 'Yankee Doodle' in the background. They were afraid “Cuz” might be in for an education.

     She then said, "This must be a bad neighborhood". I replied , "No, as a matter of fact, I can't remember the last serious crime we had in these parts." I then called out loud enough to get the attention of most my folks and said, " How many of y'all got a gun on you?" Six hands shot into the air. Then I said, " Keep your hands up. How many have at least one in your car or truck?" Another five or six hands went up. I turned to my "cousin" and said, "Now if you were up to no good, looking for victims, and you knew how most folks in these parts felt about defending their "Kith and Kin", would you come up on this porch looking for trouble?" She said "Certainly not". I said "Now you know why we can't remember the last serious crime in this area." I then told her, "Neighborhoods are made up of neighbors. Those folks there, that had their hands up, are our neighbors. They're at our "family" reunion because they are a major part of our lives. We grew up together. We hunt together, fish together, fix fences together, we care for and correct each others children. When I die they'll be my pall bearers if they're young enough. If not, their sons will be. They'll see to it my widow never goes hungry and they know I'll do the same for them. We don't always see eye to eye on everything but neither do my brother and I. Does that sound like a bad neighborhood?" She looked around and said "No, it sounds like a good place to be". I said, "Glad to hear you think so. Later, after our food settles, we're taking the kids to the back pasture to let them shoot the .22s. If you've never fired a gun and would like to, this would be a good time to try. I'm an NRA certified instructor and we will be very safe". Both sisters declined to shoot with us and I think they were mildly surprised, after all the shots they heard fired on the north forty, that every one came back unbloodied; not a single casualty. Every kid had a smile on his or her face and a target to show off.

     The California cousins left not a little enlightened. They learned that there are places on the Earth where neighbors are like family. Where the setting of the sun does not mean cowering behind barred windows, wired with alarms, but building bonfires and breaking out the marshmallows and guitars. Where not only "bad guys" have guns, but so do the "good guys". And where the bad guys are sorely out-gunned, there is peace and tranquility. Not "in spite" of the firearms, but ,at least in part, because of them. Where kids are taught gun safety at the same age they are taught not to drink things from under the kitchen sink. And then, when they're a little older, are taught to shoot. And to shoot well.

     I hope our left coast cousins went home, took a gun safety class, and became Life members of the NRA but I doubt it. Most of all, I'm just happy they went home.

Later,

Jamie