Why I'm giving up my guns
While Piers Morgan and Alex Jones were having a gun control debate on CNN, I was having my own internal debate. I am an avid hunter, but the tragedy in Newtown, Conn. made me realize that as a gun-owner, I am unwittingly abetting the narrative of American violence.
CNN host Piers Morgan and radio host and gun advocate Alex Jones may have had a heated gun control debate on Mr. Morgan's CNN show Monday night, but I have been having a heated internal debate of my own.Skip to next paragraph
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My father taught me to shoot when I was 12 years old. My first gun was my grandmother’s .410 pump action shotgun. As time went on, I graduated to a 12-gauge shotgun, though I remain the worst skeet shooter in my family. I treasure the memories of hunting ducks and pheasant with my father near his home in Rhode Island – the salt marsh on the Narrow River, or the fluorescence around our canoe paddles in the channel to Cornelius Island in the predawn darkness.
I’ve kept my own firearms in my house for 12 years now. And this year, my wife and I moved to a small farm that backs up to several acres of beautiful woods. I know where the turkeys feed, the daily routines of squirrel and deer. When I take my gun into the woods on the lookout for a particular animal, I breathe in the patterns of the forest.
I am finally in a situation where I can use my guns to pursue hunting, which I love to do, but now I am contemplating giving up my guns. Recent events, especially the tragedy in Newtown, Conn., have caused me to realize that as a gun-owner, I am unwittingly abetting the narrative of American violence.
My wife thinks this is ridiculous. “But we eat what you hunt!” she says. “It’s not crazy!” I’m not concerned about the death of animals (in fact, I feel disrespectful if I do not kill at least some of the meat that we eat).
And I have never been under any illusion that I would use my guns for “home protection.” Especially given that they are hunting rifles, not semi-automatic people killers, it would be a pointless exercise anyway. I can imagine the scene as I ask an assailant to wait while I finish loading my muzzleloader.
I don’t own any of the “crazy” guns either, and I am not preparing for the zombie apocalypse. And yet, I am in doubt about my gun ownership. It troubles me.
Oddly enough, it is the joys of hunting that have pushed me to reconsider owning guns. This fall, when I was waiting at the crest of the hill for the turkeys to come into sight, and could hear their foraging getting nearer minute by minute, I was plotting destruction. But the feeling was sweet. When pointing downrange onto a pheasant recently flushed, I feel the thrill of absolute connection when I know that I am dialed in to this bird’s death.