I love guns the way a priest loves his collar. They're part of us, like a uniform we slip on to protect us from the nasty stuff all around us.
I'm no cop. I'm a therapist who jokes, "I only work to support my hunting habit!" and offer the worn bluing from trigger guards of my shotguns as proof. My guns are an extension of me. I take one with me every time I leave the house. There is a firearm in every room of my home, which is in the Cowboy Capital of the World. And after this latest shooting, I'm ready to talk about gun control.
There's a tipping point in every man for every value he holds dear. This one did it for me. I can tell you the moment it happened: when I heard the Newtown chief use these euphemisms to try to protect us from the truth, "One kindergarten classroom is unaccounted for." Something broke inside me.
The parallels between that evil in Connecticut and my own life are so over the top I can't be faulted for tipping. I work in mental health, treating guys with the same diagnosis being tossed around for the shooter. I have a 6-year-old and a wife who works for the schools. You guessed it an elementary school principal. Those guns that animal used, I own all three. His Glock model is within reach of my keyboard now. There's 14 semi-legal Black Talon sub-sonic rounds in my clip. I'm avoiding more coverage for fear I'll learn we have the same taste in bullets.
I'm writing this now so as time passes and the pain fades, Sarah Brady and her gun grabbers can still call and I'll be obliged to listen and even
support some type of reasonable limits. I got my concealed carry permit a couple of years ago. The process was a joke, but maybe something like that is what we should talk about.
You're not taking my guns and I'm not talking about taking yours. I'm saying, we have to talk.
Editor's Note: Taylor is one of The Bee's visiting editors this quarter.