
Mosin-Nagant rifle
I normally don’t drag my dear children to the local temple of the Second Amendment. And I normally don’t visit the gun shop very often at all (mainly because of economic priorities and it is always very tempting to not leave empty-handed). But I was fed rumors of wonder over a great sale on a worthy and famous WWII battle rifle by my brother-in-law, so I made the trip with my lineage in tow. All three of them. Ages 10, 8 and 4. All sweet and cute little girls. Why, you ask. Because my day off falls in the middle of the week, and it is the only time I can sneak away from the wife to go and play if the mood strikes. It is also the day I am ‘babysitting’ the fruit of my loins.
Now I am fairly positive that the local house of carnage and misogynistic, patriarchal oppression is usually not frequented by a troop of pretty little children. And certainly not in force. But I had to go and see if the rumor of $88.88 battle rifles was true. It was. Big, ginormous crates full of them fresh from our old cold war enemy and, undoubtedly, a few of them responsible for the death of a Hitler henchman or two.
After kindly, but firmly, warning the various sized wee ones to “don’t touch anything” several times we proceeded to wander in to do a bit of window shopping. This particular establishment is named Jensens and is a locally famous gun store. Hundreds of semi-automatic rifles line the walls. It’s a Terminator’s dream come true. Ak’s, Ar-15’s, semi-auto shotguns and guns I don’t even know about line the walls. The staff carry sidearms at all times amid the stacked crates of ammunition and displays of armaments. Testosterone normally drips down the wall and you’ll grow some hair on your back by just hanging around for half an hour or so. You can purchase everything from pistols to knives to binoculars to slings to handcuffs to bi-pods to increasingly antique relics from WWII. The latter item is what I had come to look at.
My two younger ones had scattered like a small Mongol horde to scout out the place while I attempted to keep one eye on them, give an abbreviated history lesson to my (at that time) ten year old on the rifle in question, and engage a helpful, salt and pepper haired, gentleman armed with a 9mm about the length (and stupidity) of the “instant” background check if I actually were to claim a Commie weapon for the cause of the average American patriot.
After our discussion I had moved on to pricing ammunition and a bit of general browsing when I heard an urgent female voice calling out “Sir, Sir, Sir…” I looked up and clear across the room a maternal female clerk, who while attempting to ring someone else up, was frantically pointing at what turned out to be my youngest two girls apparently, and studiously, inventorying a crate of loose ammunition that was sitting on the floor. “They’ll get cosmoline all over them”. I, rather embarrassingly, managed to mumble a rather lame, I know I should be watching my children but this gun is more interesting, response. “I told them not to touch anything.” She, and her customer, kind of looked at me with that “what kind of father are you teaching small, unsupervised young ladies to play with ammunition” look as I proceeded to tell them to remove their possibly ammo grease covered hands from the cartridges in the crate.
I then proceeded to round up the brood, head out to the van, get everyone in, and sit for ten minutes contemplating whether I really, really, needed to buy a rifle today, and whether I really wished to brave the gaze of the matronly one for thirty minutes while waiting for my “instant” background check to come back approved. While I waited I decided to quiz the children.
Q - “What did I tell you before we went in?”
A - “Not to touch anything.”
Q - “And what did I tell you once we were in the store?”
A - “Not to touch anything.”
And then to the two youngest ones…
Q - “And what were you doing?”
A - “Touching things.”
Q - “And what did I tell you not to do?
A - “Touch anything.”
Q - “Then why were you touching things?”
(big pause)
Eight year old: ” Well… Libby (the four year old) did it first…”
Me: “ Well, that explains it.” (pause) “How are your hands?”
A - “Fine”
(another pause)
The oldest one: “Dad, are you going to buy the gun or not, mom’s going to be home soon and it’s getting late…..”
Me: Sigh… “Not today, you and I will come back again without those two, and then we’ll get it.”
And thus ended our little field trip to the house of firearms. But we’ll be back.