I carry a gun.

There, I’ve said it. I’m a card-carrying member of the NRA. One of those people that the liberal elitists warn you about – the kind of person that’s just moments away from snapping and mowing down innocent women and children with a hailstorm of deadly metal.

If you have seen me in the past year then you’ve most likely seen me while armed because I rarely go anywhere without my .45 caliber Glock 30. There are a few places where the government has taken it upon themselves to illegally infringe upon my constitutional right to be armed; and being a law-abiding citizen you won’t catch me carrying a firearm in those places (actually you’re not likely to “catch” me carrying my firearm anywhere); but everywhere else I’ll have it. Watch out the next time you see me in Wal-Mart!

Of course, I haven’t always been so mentally unstable that I felt the need or desire to tote death and destruction around with me all day. I took a fairly circuitous route to my current status as a certified, death-monger.

It all started when I discovered the sport of geocaching. Without going into the nitty-gritty details of the sport, let me just say that geocaching involves traipsing around God only knows where looking for hidden treasure (see http://www.geocaching.com).

On one of these hunts, when we (the family and I) were miles from civilization walking around in the woods on the top of a mountain, I begin to think about what would happen if we ran into a wild animal. We actually did run into a couple of large, stray dogs. They had obviously been on the loose for awhile; they were scraggly looking and didn’t appear very well nourished. They turned out to be quite docile, but if they had been aggressive we would have been in big trouble.

We would also occasionally meet other people while on these geocaching jaunts. Again, many times we were in places rarely visited, far from help. Sometimes the people that we ran into were just as scary as those two large dogs. This of course only fed my dementia and started me thinking that we really should have some type of protection if we were going to continue to wander off into the wilderness.

I researched the subject and found out the requirements for legally carrying a gun. At this point, I was still thinking about protection from wild dogs or an occasional rabid raccoon. I signed up for a concealed weapons class; dusted off the old Charter Arms .38 Special that we bought in 1987; and spent one Saturday last summer learning about the responsibilities, laws, and safety aspects of carrying a firearm. I was exposed that day to an entirely different philosophy of personal protection – an entirely different philosophy of my duty to take responsibility for my protection and the protection of my family.

I sent off the paperwork for my concealed weapons permit on Monday after taking the course on Saturday and began the anticipated 90-day wait while the State Law Enforcement Division investigated my “worthiness” to carry a gun. Being the analytical fellow that I am, I decided to use that time to do more in-depth research on this responsibility (duty) that I had been told I had.

Through the power of the Internet (ah, another Satan-inspired technology designed to turn ordinary citizens into crazed killers), I realized that most of us walk around every day oblivious to what goes on around us; ignoring the unsafe situations that we blindly walk into; and that it’s only by the grace of God that we emerge unscathed. I also realized what each of us already knows – that not everyone does emerge unscathed.

Every day we see reports in the newspaper of “innocent” people that were touched by acts of “random” violence. We make comments like “you just never know” or “it doesn’t happen here”. The fact is you just never know when it will happen to you and it DOES happen here: in a bank in Greer, a motorcycle shop in Chesnee, a fast food store in Spartanburg, a Bi-Lo in Greenville, a residential neighborhood on the West side of town, and a 1000 other places and times that get buried in all the clutter. It doesn’t just happen to prostitutes and drug dealers. It happens to grandmothers and grandfathers; mothers and fathers; sons and daughters.

I was also convinced that it was my responsibility to protect myself and my family. The police are not there to protect me and you from criminals. They are there to catch the criminals after they have committed their crime. That’s not much comfort if you’re the victim; if you or a love one has been raped, murdered, or beaten. Courts have consistently found that the government in general – and the police in particular – are under no duty or obligation to protect individual citizens. Even if the police desired to do so, the numbers are not in their favor. Professor Don B. Kates, Jr., a civil rights lawyer and criminologist, wrote:

Even if all 500,000 American police officers were assigned to patrol, they could not protect 240 million citizens from upwards of 10 million criminals who enjoy the luxury of deciding when and where to strike. But we have nothing like 500,000 patrol officers; to determine how many police are actually available for any one shift, we must divide the 500,000 by four (three shifts per day, plus officers who have days off, are on sick leave, etc.). The resulting number must be cut in half to account for officers assigned to investigations, juvenile, records, laboratory, traffic, etc., rather than patrol.[1]

The next few times that you are out-and-about (whatever that means), especially when you are out of your car, pay special attention to how often you see a police officer. Will there be one around that will prevent you from being a victim?

What about in your own home? Have you ever had to call the police for anything that might be serious? How long was their response time? In the last 3 years, we’ve picked up the phone and called the police to our house once. We were watching the driver of a jeep try to run down another car. They were traveling through a residential area at excessive speeds; running through vacant lots; and at least once through a neighbor’s lot while kids were playing close by. The police arrived 45 minutes later. Just last year, our alarm system was triggered while our two kids were home alone. The police were called and the children huddled in a locked bathroom while my wife and I rushed home. It took us about 20 minutes to get home from the other side of Spartanburg. The police never showed up.

I’m not naïve enough to think that we’re all going to be the victims of violent crime. Most likely, neither you nor I will ever be faced with that. On the other hand, I’m sure those 3 people in the bank in Greer thought that too. I’m sure the grandmother stabbed in the head with a screwdriver while grocery shopping thought that. I’m sure the woman shot in the head while exiting the mall in Greenwood thought that.

The point here is that if you think your safety is not your personal responsibility; if you think that the police can and will protect you; if you think that you’re safe at home, at Wal-Mart, at the mall, or in your quiet neighborhood; then you are a fool.

That was the conclusion that I came to one day last summer, and 57 days after mailing my application (way to go SLED!) I took responsibility for my family’s safety. I may still be the victim of a violent crime and my wife or my children may be the victims of a violent crime. I’ve tilted the odds a little in our favor though.

I carry a gun – but more importantly, I’ve opened my eyes.

Wayne