You don’t grow up in Arkansas without shooting a gun, even if, like me, your parents were city slickers who thought enjoying the great outdoors was best achieved from the inside of a rolling four door car. Sooner or later, some boy comes along who fancies himself an avid outdoorsman, as did my first husband. I’d never touched a rifle, shotgun, or pistol until I met him.

We used to visit friends in Russellville, who lived on the outskirts of town, in a rural area. The first firearm I shot was a 22 rifle. It wasn’t bad; it was lightweight with hardly any recoil. The bullet itself is lightweight, thin and so therefore you have to be deadly accurate. You also have to be careful where you shoot one of these rifles as the bullet can travel a mile in distance.

One time we went camping waaay deep in the woods. We could only get there by four- wheel drive, and even then it was tricky. It was there, on the banks of a tiny river, that I first shot a 12-guage. Whoa! Talk about shoulder pain pump action! That thing had a kick and nearly knocked me on my butt! But because the bullets are bigger, it’s a lot easier to hit your target (floating beer cans, in my case.)

After that husband and with my next boyfriend, I shot my first 99mm semi-automatic Luger. Oh, those Germans sure know their guns. That thing was sweet!

Later, I bought my own 22 magnum pistol, at WalMart, back when they sold pistols at WalMart and didn’t do a 7 day waiting period. All I had to do was fill out a form stating I wasn’t a convicted felon. Somehow my second husband lost that gun in a move.

It’s for the better. I really, deep down, have a fear of guns. I’ve seen too many movies, heard too many news reports. I know that it is a mechanical machine and machines malfunction and break down.

However, when Arkansas passed a “concealed weapons law” meaning anyone could carry a conceal weapon as long as they had a license, my parents jumped on that bandwagon and both got one. Yep, that’s right, my mom is packin’ heat. Don’t mess with Don and Barbara!

My best friend also carries a pistol. She’s planning a drive from Texas, where she lives, to Central Florida, where I live. She assures me she’ll not only have her little Boston Terrier, Lucy, but she’ll have her gun.

As for me? I have no desire to have a gun. With my (bad) luck, I’d probably end up shooting myself, a neighbor, the dog, or I’d end up having the my own gun turned on me. So, for right now, I’ll just remain a pacifistic, conscientious objector.

Lord, I’m such a hippy. When did that happen?