Lately things have been nuttier than a port-a-
potty at a peanut festival. Granted I have seen my
whole family in the past week and it wasn’t because
of funeral, but some tread very lightly around me
and have been asking strange questions.
Being family we have all known each other our
entire lifes but I get the feeling some of them
don’t know whether to check their butt or scratch
So when Dad stopped over for a chat and a cup of
coffee I asked him. By the time I walked him out to
his car I realized I wasn’t as worked up as I
After talking about the farm, our exploits in the
Navy, and when the barn burned down in 1937, I was
no longer agitated. Looking at things again from a
new perspective brought insight.
I wondered why, after all these years, are they
wondering if I own guns and if I have a permit to
carry? I could not remember being asked that before
in all my 64 years. And to ask a gun owner if has
ammo for his guns has to be one of the dumbest
Are they afraid I may harm myself or others? Do
they want to borrow a gun? Nobody asked if I still
wore hats, or if I listened to Lawrence Welk.
So I decided to come clean. I collect Coke items,
car reference books, car parts, collector mugs,
diecast cars, pocket knives and metal signs. And I
may own guns and may load them three days a week,
you can guess which days.
Comments are always welcome.