My Take on Mass Shootings (written shortly after the VA Tech Shooting)

by Jamie Spaulding 

Tuesday, May 15, 2007
VA Tech Shootings

Category: Blogging
Being a personal protection instructor, combat shooter and all around gun guy, I get quizzed every time something like this happens. The number 1 question is what would I do. Normally I say I'd shoot back. Of course, in a school or college setting, the law abiding are the only ones disarmed. Since I tend to be law abiding I suppose I would find myself as unarmed as everyone else. It is hard to say what I would do, not knowing the specifics of what happened.

I'll do my best to tell you what I would not do. You'll have to make your own decisions for yourself.

1. I would not cower behind a desk or under a table and beg some gun wielding cretin for my life.

2. I would not allow some little maggot or gang of maggots to enslave me, be it for a minute or a lifetime.

3. I would not allow said cretin to reload! Ever!

4. I would not hold a door closed so others could escape, knowing I would be shot through said door. My death would only save the few in the room and leave this maniac in a condition to continue the carnage. If I am to be shot, I will be shot trying my best to disarm the low-life or trying to shove his larynx through his spinal column.

5. I would not let a punk decide when I will die. If I die it will be because I decided to act instead of melt.

6. I would not assume that, because he has a gun, he has power over me. The fact that he has taken to this cowardly deed says much about his psyche. He is and always will be a loser! I am and always will be a winner! He knows this already and at the first show of "cajones" he will fall apart and blow his worthless brains out.

7. Whether I lived or died, I would not have to live the rest of my life knowing I did nothing while others around me were slaughtered. There are many things worse than dying. Looking in the mirror every morning and knowing you did nothing while others died is one of them.

8. I would not wait to make these decisions after the shooting started. I will, instead, spend a goodly amount of time practicing my self defense tactics, both armed and unarmed. And I will devote much thought to developing the proper mindset. The proper mindset wins fights! Not weapons! Not the amount of rounds in your magazine!

9. If shot, I would not lay down and wait to die or be finished off. I will fight as long as there is breath in my body and as long as some part of me will move.

10. I would not buy into the modern mantra that says, "Violence is not the answer!" It has been said and is true, "We have been told so often that violence is not the answer to everything that we have come to believe it's not the answer to anything". Violence that harms the innocent must be answered with swift, ruthless, overwhelming violence! If this makes you squeamish or causes you to lose control of your bladder, WAKE UP! We are not headed toward some universal utopia. Mankind's imagination for wreaking havoc upon itself is boundless. If there is one thing six thousand years of civilization has taught us, it is that there will always be those in our midst who are capable of great evil. We have also learned that evil can succeed only when good men do nothing.

     Please know that my deepest sympathies go out to all the families touched by this tragedy. But also know that I cannot abide by the mental conditioning that allows healthy young men to lay behind a desk and play dead while others are being murdered. If all crime was met with immediate indignation and resistance, crime would stop! The cost would be too high for the miscreants who perpetrate it. They are, after all, COWARDS! Real men obey the law, labor to give their families a decent lot in life, and try to make their corner of the world a better place for all. Those who seek shortcuts by infringing on the freedom, dignity, or property of others, are too weak minded and weak spirited to live life honorably.

     And what of Honor? Is it an outdated concept? Perhaps it has never been a substantive thing. Only a thing of fairytales and fables. Some would have you believe it. I, however, know it exists. I see it everyday in people in the workplace, at church, and out in the community. If Honor exsists, then we should strive to be honorable. Putting others before ourselves. Serving something greater than our own materialistic appetites and the quest for longevity.

To the Liberals

     If you are one of those who believe that violence begets violence and you honestly feel you would rather die than resort to it. Take heart! There are still many in this country willing to act on your behalf. We believe in your right to be a pacifist but we will still crack the skull of the man we see raping your daughter. Don't, however, deny us the ability to defend ourselves and others who are too weak or too cowardly to do their own fighting. Just feel secure knowing that there are still a few of us neanderthals who are willing to get blood on our hands defending your worthless butt! Some of us believe that there are many causes worth our lives. That is why there are soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines, policemen, and firemen. And don't forget the handgun permit holders. By their anonymous, covert, presence they reduce crime rates because selecting a victim becomes a high risk game. Although not required to come to your aid in a life threatening situation, they are permitted by law to do so. Should you decide to refuse to be a victim and lose your life preventing the death of another take comfort in these words.

"Greater love hath no man than this, than a man lay down his life for his friends"
John 15:13
Liberals hate it when we quote Jesus.
God Bless and Keep You All,
Jamie

Why You Need a Handgun Permit

     After twelve years of teaching handgun permit classes to several thousand students, I’ve heard just about every question one can imagine. We instructors like to say that there are no dumb questions. That’s not necessarily true. I’ve heard some dumb ones. Not from students, but mostly from people who have just found out what I do.  I guess the dumbest is, “Why would someone need to carry a gun?”  I used to ask the questioner if he had looked at the newspaper lately. Now I just relate the following story.

    This is the story of a young, stay at home, mother in her early thirties. She had two sons, ages five years and two years of age. This young mother was a permit holder and quite often carried a handgun with her during her daily tasks. She and her husband lived in a small town where crime was practically non-existent.

    One night in particular, she had found herself having to make a late night run to her in-laws house which was only a few miles away. Since her husband worked the night shift and would soon be leaving for work, she had to pack up the children in her new minivan to make the run. Having to get the bunch ready and loaded up, she decided not to bother running back into the house to get her gun. After all, she was only going a few miles and would only be gone twenty minutes.

     Heading out of town limits, she soon brushed away the concern she had about leaving her gun. It was a small community and she knew most everyone in it. Criminals were few and far between. Turning down a side road to cut a few tenths of a mile off of her round trip, she felt a rear tire go flat. This was a problem. She had never changed a tire before and wasn’t sure where to even find the spare in the new van. She pulled her cell phone out of her purse. There was one spot between her home and her destination where no signal was available. She was slap dab in the middle of it. She considered just riding on the rim to the top of the next hill where a signal might be available. In hindsight, this would have been the preferred way to handle this problem. Her concern was damaging the wheel on the new minivan. Instead, she decided to walk. She was not about to leave her children unattended in the wounded vehicle. She took the 2yr. old son up in her arms. The five year old held to her hand as they began their fateful journey.

     All went well until they reached the foot of the hill that meant possible rescue. She knew the man who lived in a house at the top of the hill. He was a gentle old soul that went to bed with the sun. He could be seen daily taking his early morning walk with his constant companion, a medium sized canine of dubious lineage (i.e. a mutt). The man was, no doubt, fast asleep. His dog wasn’t. This was a rural lane that didn’t see much traffic in the daylight hours, let alone at 10 P.M. and foot traffic was rarely ever seen. As soon as she heard the low growl coming from the tall weeds at the side of the road, she knew the tire was the least of her troubles now.

     The dog would do what any loyal dog would do. He would protect his master. The five year old was terrified by the guttural growl coming from the monster, visible only to his mind’s eye. He began to cry. Knowing that running might enervate the primal urge of the dog to give chase and attack, she tried to calm the boy and held tightly to his small tugging hand. Her list of options was small and there wasn’t a good one in the bunch.     She could set the two year old down and tell the elder to lead the younger back to the van while she fought the dog “hand to fang”, but what if she lost?. How long would the kids be out here alone?  What if they began to run and the quick dog bypassed her to go for the smaller, weaker prey? And she could never run with both kids in her arms. If she tried and the canine attacked, she might seriously injure one or both kids in the fall that would surely come. She could leave the five year old to fend for his self and at least save the younger one. No! Wild animals did that. People didn’t. She would never allow that to happen. Not for the first time during this short standoff (that already seemed to have lasted for hours) she thought, “if only I had my handgun”. Just firing into the ground near the unseen dog might cause him to high-tail it back to his home. The shot, or two, or three (an international signal for help), would surely awaken surrounding households and draw help……..

     Fortunately, this story is a work of fiction. Well, most of it anyway. The young mother was (and still is) my wife. The two sons are mine as well. This is a scenario I presented to my wife one night when she was about to make a round trip run to my parent’s house as I was leaving for work. I asked her if she had her gun. Her reply was “No, I’m just going to the farm and back. I don’t think I’ll run into a criminal on the way”. That’s when I presented her with this scenario and her list of available options. She went back into the house and donned her Don Hume paddle holster containing her Glock 19 and even buckled on a spare magazine pouch containing an extra 15 rounds of hollow-point insurance.

  

   Understand that this is what a handgun is; it’s insurance. We don’t buy insurance for something we know will happen. We buy it for things that are unexpected; for things that can’t be planned for. When some learn that we carry handguns they ask “expecting trouble?” I always advise them that a handgun is what one carries when one is not expecting trouble. If I were going somewhere I expected trouble, I wouldn’t go. And if I had to go, I’d carry a rifle and ten of my best friends with their rifles. Realize that trouble comes when we don’t expect it. That, my friend, is why you need a handgun permit and a handgun. Think about it!

Thanks for reading and feel free to leave a comment,

Jamie Spaulding

     Urban and Suburban Shooting Practice
    
     When Roger asked me to write for Traditional Woodsman, he realized that I am a “gun guy”. Guns are my forte’. I have been shooting since the age of eight; earlier if you include BB guns. I began reading everything I could find on firearms at almost the same time I began reading. I did my first gun-smithing job at the tender age of eleven. I used one of my mother’s spring steel heated curler clips to fashion an ejector for my dad’s Marlin, Model 25, bolt action .22 rifle; and, I am proud to say, it is still functioning as well as the day I installed it 37 years ago.

      I love to shoot. My entire family loves to shoot. Rarely a day goes by that we aren’t shooting, or planning to shoot. I am a shooter first, then a hunter. Too many deer to count have made it into my freezer and fed my family. Only one, out of the many, required a second shot. It was a case of bad range estimation coupled with inexperience. It’s also happens to be the only deer that I ever hit with a bullet and never found. I chalked it up to lessons learned. Also, I don’t gut shoot deer. If I can’t get a broadside shot, I’ll take a quartering shot, but only if I know I can put it in the heart or lungs without hitting too far back. If this shot doesn’t present itself, I don’t fire. Period!

      This brings me to my article for this week. The most successful hunters are the ones that practice. I hate the mentality that says “I’m shooting a .338 Mag., so I don’t bother about perfect bullet placement”. Here’s a guy that sights in his rifle from a sandbag on a beautiful, fall day. Two shots in the black at a hundred is good enough since it costs him four bucks every time he squeezes the trigger. It has kicked him so hard that his nose is bleeding and he has a small cut over his right eye from a scope kiss; thus insuring a massive flinch when he fires it under field conditions. Unless he gets a shot at a deer this season (let’s hope he doesn’t), he won’t shoot this rifle again until the night before next opening day.

      I have always been a traditional caliber guy. I know this doesn’t sell the latest guns in the latest “fashionable” calibers, but I believe a .270, .30-06 or .308 will do any hunting task on this continent provided it is in the hands of a skilled shooter. While “cheap ammo” has become an oxymoron, these calibers are a bargain when compared to the boutique magnums so popular today. Honestly, wouldn’t our friend in the previous paragraph be much better served by a rifle that he can afford to shoot two or three boxes of ammo through per year, and that won’t knock the fillings in his teeth loose every time he squeezes the trigger?

      So the secret is really no secret at all. Developing and maintaining basic marksmanship skills is of the utmost importance. Simply put, I believe one should shoot at least once a month. Whether you are a hunter or a CCW permit holder, you have a responsibility to be skilled in the use of your firearm. I used to shoot around 200 rounds per week when I was a serious competitor. Not all of it was the caliber, or the handgun I competed with but all of it required sight alignment, trigger press, and follow through. I am fortunate enough to live 10 minutes away from my gun club and also my family’s 62 acre farm. So what if you don’t?

       I understand that many live in areas that require quite a drive to arrive at a suitable spot to shoot. I also will admit that indoor range fees might preclude the urban shooter from being able to shoot as much as he would like. We all know that the cost of ammunition has sky rocketed in the last couple of years. All of these combined make it tough on suburban and urban shooters. I am the first to recommend shooting .22s. However, the noise and power of this cartridge make it too much for the urban shooter. The next best thing is a pellet rifle. Air rifle technology is leaps and bound beyond the Red Riders we had growing up. The newest of the breed really are powerful; and with alloy pellets, can achieve supersonic speeds which is sure to be accompanied by the “crack” which is not good for our purposes here. What we are after is accuracy. There are few pellet rifles with the track record for accuracy of the Daisy Avanti 853. Our club has purchased 5 of these rifles in “used but rebuilt” condition for use in youth marksmanship training activities from the Civilian Marksmanship Program (see picture 1). The Avanti 853 is a single pump, single shot, peep sighted, real wood stocked version that is unbelievably accurate. I have shot ten meter groups that look like one ragged .30 caliber hole. I am sure that any of the three I own will out shoot me. My kids and their friends have spent countless hours in the backyard shooting these rifles. I have fired them over my chronograph and am amazed by the consistency of velocity. Rated at 550 fps, they aren’t the most powerful pellet rifle available and the trigger is a little mushy, but it’s a two stage affair that can be mastered easily enough (see picture 2).

     


What about handgunners? Here’s a trick I use for my revolvers. I separate a hundred, clean, .38 special cases, resize them and remove the old primers, and drill out the flash hole to about 3/32; and prime the cases with standard small pistol primers. I then take half inch thick blocks of paraffin wax (available in the canning dept. of your grocery store) and place them in warm/hot water from the faucet until the blocks are warm enough to bend a little. The warm block is rolled in a paper towel to remove any water, and primed cases are pushed through the block (see picture 3). This makes a half inch long wax wadcutter already loaded into the cartridge. I then lightly run the case mouth over a candle to melt the end of the wax bullet just enough to keep it from slipping out of the case mouth. No propellant is required and magnum primers will cause primer set back, so stick with the standard small pistol primers. The wax bullets are fairly accurate out to approximately 15 ft. I hang an old towel over the clothes line and shoot into it thereby eliminating ricochets and allowing me to reload the bullets (picture 4). You’ll need to clean your gun after using the wax bullets, as the wax will build up in your rifling but one or two strokes with a bore brush is enough to clean it out. These are not toys. They will shoot through an IDPA cardboard target at six or eight ft. and can bounce off of hard surfaces, so use common sense. They lose energy rather quickly though and rarely travel more than 75 ft.

Remember, safe gun handling skills are a must. Also keep in mind that priming compounds produce traces of toxic heavy metals so don’t fire a few thousand rounds of these in your basement. Always wash your hands with soap and cold water after handling lead pellets and ammunition. Shoot safely and have fun!

Jamie

originally posted on www.traditionalwoodsman.com

Traditional Holiday Season

     I hope my readers will forgive my lack of submissions in the last few weeks. My only excuse is that I have been extremely busy. Spare time has become a precious commodity of late. I’m not complaining because I am enjoying myself. I have always enjoyed writing; and going back to school this late in life means I am writing several papers each week. Generally, it’s not the type of writing I enjoy; too dry and scientific for my tastes. I like humor and there isn’t much call for that in anatomy or psychology. So what has inspired me to write tonight knowing I have a lab practical and midterm coming up in Anatomy and two papers to write for psychology and another for English Composition?

     It’s the Holiday season. This year, I have been finding myself in the holiday spirit much earlier than usual. Maybe it’s because my life has “jumped the track”, for lack of a better term. I have been reminded, once again, of just how blessed I am. I wouldn’t trade my life with anyone.  Though I haven’t been able to hunt much this year (something I plan to remedy between fall and spring semester), I have spent some great times with my family. That’s hard to do working six days a week.

     I believe that the plant closing that caused me to lose my job has been a blessing. I would have been there, on that same job fifteen years from now. I’d still be working six days a week, missing things like “Doughnuts with Dads” which I was able to attend with my nine year old daughter at her school this year. This function conspicuously coincides with the book fair, which you have to walk through to get your ticket for your “free” doughnut. Never fear dads, they accept debit cards. I told my little girl that it was the first time a free doughnut had cost me thirty two bucks. She thought that was funny. I thought that seeing her laugh with chocolate icing at the corners of her mouth was worth thirty two hundred bucks.

     My boys are looking forward to our Christmas break. We are planning our deer hunting strategy. They reminded me that I didn’t get a deer last year with the Big Bore revolver I built. I assured them that I was aware of that fact and would redeem myself over Christmas break. Here’s a helpful hint, if you want to take a deer with a handgun, don’t take a rifle with you. It’s very hard to take a fifty yard shot with a pistol when you have a .30-06 Winchester Model 70 lying in your lap. The temptation to pick up the rifle and instantly turn a tough shot into a “gimme” is overwhelming.

      A week from Thursday, take inventory of your blessings. Love those family and friends that make everything you do worth doing. When you are out in the woods rejuvenating, be mindful of the Creator of it all and give Him His due. I would expect that He hears from many hunters as they take in the beauty that surrounds them. I know I have uttered many praises from a deer stand. If you have nothing to be thankful for, you’re in need of more help than I can provide here. Find a church near you and go. I suspect you will find that being unable to be thankful is due to a heart condition. It’s not one your cardiologist can fix.

     I hope that all of you have a blessed Thanksgiving. I also hope that you will prepare yourselves for Christmas. Not by shopping on Black Friday, but by doing for others. You want to feel the real Christmas spirit? Help someone less fortunate. Invite someone to Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, that doesn’t have anyone. It may be a senior citizen whose children are far away, maybe the “old grouch” down the street. Make him feel warm and welcome and watch his heart melt. How about a care package for a soldier? Also, our custom is to send a box for each of our children to Operation Christmas Child. We let our kids help pack the boxes. When we do for others, we learn what really matters at Christmas. Remember these words, “Inasmuch as ye have done it for the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me”.

God Bless,

Jamie

Traditional Values Make for a Pretty Good Life

     Thanks to the internet, and the popularity of social media, I recently reconnected with an old pal, Roger Norris. Roger and I go way back. To be more specific, we actually attended Head Start and Kindergarten together at Starkweather Elementary School in Plymouth, MI. In time, our families moved on up the social ladder and left the Old Village portion of Plymouth for the wealthier parts of town, on the other side of the tracks (literally), and I wouldn't see Roger again until West Jr. High.

     We always had something to talk about because we both came from Hunting and Fishing families, (not too hard to find those in MI). After my parents moved to my mother’s hometown of Troy, TN, in my 8th grade year, I didn't see Roger again until the summer we graduated from high school. He stopped by my granddad’s house on S. Harvey in Plymouth, with another friend who happened to hear I was up visiting. Over the next three decades I would occasionally think of Roger and our other running buddy, Todd Maguran, and wonder where they were, and what they were doing. Along came Facebook. I knew that with our 30 yr. reunion approaching there was bound to be some activity on Facebook by my old classmates. So I started searching names and ,viola! there was Roger. I knew from the profile pic it was my old pal because it showed the unmistakable riser of a Longbow in the foreground and whitetail does in the background.

     I didn’t waste any time catching up with Roger. I told him about a student I had had a few years ago, in my Handgun Permit Class, named Roger Norris, only to discover it was Roger’s father. He lives a few miles down the road from where I sit typing. I learned that after high school, Roger, looking for excitement, and heeding an inner call to duty, joined the Army. During those same years, I started my own band, became a licensed private investigator, and a bounty hunter (I actually prefer skip tracer, to "bounty hunter" as the latter brings to mind visions of an old west gunfighter much like a cock-eyed, Jack Elam looking, character, in dusty clothes, a sawed off Greener double barrel in his hand: riding into town with a body draped over his trailing pack mule).

     I found the parallels in Roger’s life and mine to be pretty amazing. Roger is happily married to a beautiful lady. They have recently celebrated their 25^th anniversary and have 3 children. Not counting Daisy, the beagle, they have; two boys and just to finish things up nicely, their youngest is a beautiful young lady, the spitting image of mom (thank heavens!) except she has Roger's hair color. Sound familiar? Okay, not quite. Mary and I, started a little later and have been married 22 years, and also have two boys and a girl, not counting Major, our 14 yr. old, yellow lab. The difference being, it's my middle child that looks like his mother. The eldest boy, and the baby girl look like dad.

     We both have successful marriages and are happy, almost the point of feeling guilty about it. Maybe the secret is due to the fact that, being outdoorsmen, there are many seasons throughout the course of the year that draw us out of the house to “while away” our free time, thus, allowing our wives to run the house without us underfoot. I don't think that's it. More than likely, it's the same set of principles that make us good sportsmen, that also help our marriages to be successful. I think it's passion, first and foremost. I know for a fact that I am a passionate person. I am opinionated, hard-headed, and sometimes downright obtuse, but I am also dedicated, and "true blue". My Maker comes first and then it's my family. I actually believe that my wife and family are a blessing from God! I think if you’d ask Roger, he would say the same thing. It's hard to leave a woman that you feel was made "just for you". And, I distinctly remember swearing “before God and these witnesses" to several promises I made on our wedding day. I gave my word. That means a great deal to me. I would never break my word to a hunting buddy. How much more then, should I never break my word to my wife?

      It also takes two to tango, which means you need a spouse with that same passion & dedication to always do right. Notice I didn't say that we always do right, but that we have a passion and dedication to do right. And, lastly, because in the history of mankind there has only been one perfect person born, forgiveness is extremely important. I am ridiculously hard to live with and know it. Pick someone that can overlook your quirks and shortcomings and do the same for her.

     The name of this website is “traditional woodsman”. Maybe that’s the secret. The same set of principles that cause us be traditional outdoorsmen is the very thing that also causes us to hold our responsibilities as friends, husbands, and fathers in high regard. Those “traditional values” that we hold so dear, are an integral part of who we are. Then again, maybe our wives just have a high tolerance for buffoonery. Either way, I’m glad Roger and I have connected again. It has been said that one’s wealth can be determined by the quantity and quality of relationships in one’s life. If that’s true, and I believe that it is, I am wealthy beyond imagination.

Keep posting your comments. I enjoy reading them and replying back to you.

Jamie

originally published on www.traditionalwoodman.com

Father Knows Best, Not!

By Jamie Spaulding

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

     Just last week I heard a news story about a teen dying in an accident involving a muzzle loader. Yesterday I decided it was time to remind my boys of the difference between modern smokeless powder and black powder. As a careful and conscientious re loader, it has always been my practice to keep all my propellants in their original container. I, however, am fortunate to be the "gun guy" to go to for many of my friends, family, and former students. There are many negative aspects to holding this distinction. One of the most common is being handed a box full of tiny springs, pins, levers, hammer, trigger, and some type of frame. This is usually accompanied by the request to "put it back like it was". One of the positive aspects of being the "go to guy" on firearms is that if someone has some gun related junk they want to unload they call me. Due to this, I had in my possession a half pound of extruded powder with a home made label. The label made me believe the previous owner (unknown to me) knew what he was doing. Hand written on the label was "IMR 4895, Save for National Matches", plus a lot number. This led me to believe that it was, probably, exactly what it said it was. There was no way I was going to re-load with it though, so I decided to use it for a demonstration.
      I am loathe to put on an exhibition without an audience. I went into the house and called to my boys. Ethan, my eldest son, had a friend over and he was encouraged to watch, as well as Nathan, my fifteen year old. My eight year old daughter, Savannah, who also had a friend over, gathered with the boys on the patio. I explained that smokeless power and black powder were completely different in their burning rates and the volume of hot gases produced by each. At this point I proceeded to pour a fuse trail of the IMR 4895, about four feet long, away from the edge of the patio, dumping the remainder of the half pound in a pile at the end of the fuse trail. I stepped back to the patio, lit a cigarette and bent over touching the cigarette to the powder trail. The propellant sparked to life erupting in a flame over a foot high in a nice slow run to the pile. The pile produced a flame over four feet high and releasing a great amount of heat for about four seconds. The display was awesome to say the least. When it was over I was surprised to find Savannah's friend in the neighbor's yard, where she had run to when the pile ignited.
      Now for the last half of my demonstration and my reason for writing (I owe it to posterity to record this as accurately as possible). I picked up the can of FFFg black powder and proceeded to make another fuse trail. Taking care to move far enough away from the first so as not to pour over a hot ember and blow myself to kingdom come, I poured a nice thick fuse trail about five feet long finishing up in a not too large pile. I then advised my audience to watch carefully because this was going to be fast. I bent over to find the beginning of the fuse trail in the grass and touched the cigarette to it. Except it wasn't the beginning of the trail. It was about a foot into the line of powder. Which meant I was bent over as much powder in that foot of fuse trail as I had poured in the pile. In a flash (literally) I realized my mistake.
     It's funny how quickly the mind can formulate a thought. In the instant of the resulting flash, my mind clearly sent out the call it felt most important, "your head's on fire". But in the time it took for my free hand to get the message and react by slapping myself about the head and face, it was over. Surrounded by the lingering plume of sulfurous smoke, I detected another smell, unmistakable after your first whiff of it, the odoriferous smell of burnt hair was thick in the air.
     Through the haze I glanced at my blackened, hairless, hand. Still held between my thumb and trigger finger was a charred, smoking remnant of a cigarette filter. Just a nanosecond before, it had been a nearly full length Pall Mall 100 surreptitiously purloined from my wife's pack for my "demonstration". I was still hopeful though. Seeing the hair singed off of my igniting hand and halfway up my forearm, I thought, "aha! that's where the smell of burnt hair is coming from". About then I was roused from my bout of wishful thinking by my fifteen year old. He said, "Oh my gosh, Dad!". I reached up and felt for my bangs and saw ashes falling. I realized that I must look like Wyle E. Coyote after a bungled blasting powder booby-trap.
      My last concern was for my beard. Three weeks ago I began growing a beard in preparation for deer season. It begins with archery the last weekend in September. I had planned on having a luxurious beard by opening weekend. In the twinkling of an eye I went from a full inch long full beard to a quasi- half, fu-manchu. I suppose I'm fortunate that I just lost some hair. My problem now is deciding whether to paint on a right eye brow, shave off the left one, for the sake of symmetry, or just leave them be.
Thanks for reading,
Jamie

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