In case you didn’t hear…and you probably didn’t since big media doesn’t report the foibles of their pals on the left side of the congressional isle…some clownish California politician who spends most of his time publicly rending his garments over the Sandy Hook Tragedy and loudly proclaiming his support for any anti-gun legislation …got arrested for gun trafficking. He was apparently trying to sell some serious ballistic hardware to a federal agent. I think it was a dude from DOJ, but I might be mistaken, why would they be needing to buy more guns? Whenever they need more guns over at DOJ they just get them through a “black budget” or have some goon “walk” ’em out of a gun store. You remember …just like Eric Holder’s stroke of genius that got hundreds (thousands?) of Mexican citizens and one of our own agents killed.
And you’ve probably seen the remarks by Senator Feinstein (another politician to make Californians proud) about all ex-service people being “mental cases” or something along those lines. I may have missed it, but I’ve never seen any mental health provider’s credential hung around her name. Who is she to make broad blandishments about the millions of folks who have been willing to make the ultimate sacrifice in order to keep her free…to continue making dumb and ungrateful statements about her betters.
I know it’s bad to make general statements from single and limited personal experience, but here we go. Take my Daddy for example. He was a tank commander in WW II. He ran a Stuart Light Tank, which carried a pop gun on its turret and was armored with tin foil. Its only advantage was being small so the target silhouette it presented was a little smaller than a Sherman.
He got out of the Army and married Mom. A year later I came along and Dad never taught me anything about guns or violence. He and Mom never had what you’d call a serious fight. They would get angry at each other over something about once a year. We kids thought the world was ending, but it never went past dinner (“supper” on the farm in Indiana). We never saw them “make up” after their “fights” but they must have. There were six of us kids when all was done and said. So I always assumed they got on pretty well. Dad never said much about the Army except a few very funny stories. He even asked me once if I was “some sort of “Glory Hound'” because I had asked him some details about the War. I dropped the topic. He never had any guns around the house except a little single shot bolt action .22 for hunting squirrels (which he only did once while I lived at home…uneventfully…the squirrels in Indiana being pretty crafty). (On a non-related point, Dad’s Daddy took me squirrel hunting once and we brought home three squirrels. They’re tasty little rodents when lightly pan fried.)
However, Dad did do something bad, of which he was ashamed, as he mustered out of the Service. He stole something and returned to civilian life with the purloined object. According to him when he left for home a 30.06 cartridge had hopped into his pocket for the ride. Pretty nefarious, I think you’ll agree. (I looked at a German MP-40, sub-machine gun once, which some kid’s dad had brought home from WW II. I don’t know how that worked, but it seemed more serious than Dad’s transgression.) Dad was always worried one of us kids might get hurt by the 30.06 cartridge…so he tossed it into a neighbor’s creek (where Indian arrowheads could be found in abundance…another fascinating topic for young boys before the ubiquitous advent of computer games). I don’t recall he ever let me shoot his little bolt action .22.
I always guessed Mom hated guns, not because she ever spoke against them, because she didn’t, but she sure hated knives, so it seemed to follow. Maybe I came from a family of pacifists and didn’t know it. But, back to the point. Even though it is logically fallacious to argue from an isolated single incident to form a big general conclusion about anything, my soldiering Dad was not a sociopath or a murderous lunatic, and I find the Senator’s remarks insulting and moronic. She is an ingrate and needs to soak her head in something that might straighten out her thinking.
“Soakin’ heads” reminds me of the time when I was playing high school football and we got a shipment of new helmets. The new fangled kind made of hard plastic. (And “No” the ones they replaced were not made of leather. And “No” we had not been playing without helmets before the new ones arrived.) They had web support, instead of padding, which was new to us. Some guys complained they were too tight so the coach suggested we take ’em home and soak ’em. Some of our brighter comrades took the coach’s meaning to be they should have their heads in the helmets during the soaking process. I know, real dumb, like Feinstein, but, at least they weren’t ingrates. They appreciated the new helmets. Mainly because the new helmets made our little world a little safer, just like Dad and millions of others did for the Senator.
And “No” we didn’t have a very good season that year.
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