Showing posts with label gun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gun. Show all posts

Monday, November 28, 2011

A Very Scary Hole in the Wall

I am taking this story from my friend’s recent experience at his house; it is all too familiar to many, including me. I’ll preface this with saying that the guy in the story is not a bad person, but rather just made a bad series of choices. No hard feelings.

If your friends are drinking and have guns, don’t let them handle them with ammo. We all know someone, somewhere who has seen or heard of someone making a mistake that hurt or killed someone being careless. I would hate to be responsible for the death of anyone unless it was purposeful; I could at least live with myself if it were. The events that unfolded the other night were foreshadowed early in the night, when the liquor and beer was just coming out.

We all were outside on the porch drinking beers and BBQing the most amazing burgers I’ve had in a while when another person, whom I had not met before, came outside. He noticed that I and three others had pistols on our hips in holsters. I say again: “IN HOLSTERS”. This guy tells us he has his gun and out from his winter coat he fishes a 9mm Smith and Wesson pistol. The first indicator of trouble was the guy’s nonchalance of weapons safety. He waves the muzzle around and crosses my friend’s chest with the bore. I fought off the urge to just cold cock the guy right there.

He had not even had the gun in hand for 2 seconds before he did something dangerous and lucky for him, we are all very comfortable. My friend who had just been muzzle swept calmly asked the guy to clear the pistol “just for a sanity check” as he put it. I may not have been so kind if it had been my flesh in front of the gun. We saw the pistol was unloaded, but did have a loaded magazine.

The rest of the night went on without incident as we all dined on cow flesh and beers; a little whisky visited our lips as well. After my meal, my family and I left the house for home. We wished everyone well and headed home.

A little while after we left, the remaining four men were inside the house talking while the aforementioned gentleman was showing off his 9mm. My friend’s two young daughters were winding down for the night and his wife and two female friends were chatting in the kitchen area. Suddenly, the guy slaps the loaded magazine into the pistol, which had been locked open, and chambers a round. He then proceeds to pull the trigger and a round fires, bounces off a nearby desk and buries itself into the exterior wall of the house.

Nobody was hurt. There is now a rule in the house that nobody other than myself and a select few others are allowed to have weapons. Just hearing what had happened makes me shudder and think of what all could happen. In the end, that guy learned an amazing lesson and only has a little shame and embarrassment to show for it; someone could have been killed.

Nobody, no matter how highly-skilled is immune to making stupid mistakes, so the best thing to do is reinforce safety often. As they say, you can’t call a bullet back.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

"Daddy, What's that Red Badge for?"

Today, my son reminded me of a brief conversation he and I had a little over a week ago around his bed time. When I was tucking him in with the usual good night hug and kiss, he asked me what I was looking at, through my scope, in a picture on our wall. At the time, I told him I would talk to him about it later; well, later was today for him.
My wife hung up a picture of me that was taken in early 2005 in Tal Afar, Iraq in which I was looking through my rifle scope at suspected enemy positions as the rest of the squad moved through the area. We were not actively engaged with hostile forces at the time, so the picture is just neat and happened to have been taken at the right time by someone. The picture has a simple wooden frame with my bronze star pinned to it and then my broken KIA bracelet on top of it.
My son asked me to lift him up so he could see what I was doing in the picture. When I lifted him up, he saw the Bronze Star with its “V” device pinned to it and asked me “Daddy, what’s that red badge for?” I was shocked that he knew what a badge was, let alone semi-proper use of the word and then I was astonished that he knew that there was some significant reason that I had it.
I just told him that I got it for doing a good job, which was true, because there is no way I am going to get into the nitty gritty of what actually transpired that warm April day.  I realize that there will come a day that he will want to know more, but not today. It is a tough thing to describe to a five year old, let alone anyone. The stone-cold facts may not be the best way of telling him either.
In the end, he knows where I was on the globe (Thanks to the Leap Frog Explorer globe) and that I was there for a year and it was before he was born. This should be interesting one day.