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05-29-2003, 09:34 PM
Lock and load (http://www.boulderweekly.com/uncensored.html)
by Pamela White
My first feeling at the sight of the desert mesas, the rolling Colorado River and the green valley below is one of intense homesickness. My parents live about 50 miles to the south in Montrose. I haven't been home for almost two years, and I'm not going home now.
Today my road ends in Palisade. I've come to hold up my end of a deal.
Ari Armstrong, a libertarian whose writing appears periodically in Boulder Weekly, publicly challenged me to take a National Rifle Association personal defense course ("Pamela White gun challenge," Speaking Out, Dec. 19, 2002). His challenge came in response to a column I had written about the night my apartment was broken into by two men with switchblades. Saved from being raped at knifepoint by the timely intervention of two CU police officers, I spent years coping with the trauma of that incident.
My column was intended to share what I felt was some level of transcendence over the violence of that night. In the column, I explained that, although I'd have shot and killed the two intruders if I'd had a gun that night, I now feel violence is not the answer, even when the issue is self-defense. ("The night I would have killed," Uncensored, Aug. 22, 2002.)
In response, Ari wrote, "It pained me to read her ignorant perspective on gun ownership and the right of self-defense... She misunderstands the nature of self-defense and the appropriate use of a gun."
Not one to turn down a dare, I publicly accepted his offer.
As Lee Boren, an NRA member and lifelong hunter whom I was about to meet would say, "A deal is a deal. You stick to it until hell freezes over and you've walked five miles on the ice."
Ari tells me he hopes two things will come out of this weekend. He hopes first of all to demystify guns so that I come to see them as tools, as opposed to little metallic monsters, the embodiment of violence and evil. He also hopes to combat stereotypes I might have about people whom we in Boulder might simply call "gun nuts."
We stay the night at the home of his father and stepmother, Linn and Sharon Armstrong. Linn is a Vietnam Veteran, a certified NRA instructor and one of the founders of this course, which has trained some 2,000 people since 1991.
I go to bed feeling more than a little nervous. Before I fall asleep, Neo pops into my mind. "Guns," he says. "Lots of guns."
I've never even held a gun.
Digging double taps
The first day of the class starts at 7 a.m. No skinny vanilla latté to wake me up, just the scenery--green orchards, the high walls of the desert canyon and the muddy waters of the Colorado.
We arrive at the Grand Valley Training Club, and I meet Dean Blanck, our lead instructor. He helps me sign in, hands me a packet of information.
Right away I realize something significant: I'm the only gun virgin in the room. Everyone else has arrived carrying handguns, which they deposit on a table. They all know each other and talk in code.
"D'you bring your 22 or the semi-auto?"
"Gonna try my 22 today. Bringin' my new nine millimeter tomorrow."
Whatever. I slink into a corner, the lone representative of the People's Republic.
Dean and Gary Barto spend the morning instructing us in basic handgun safety.
"ALWAYS keep your gun pointed in a safe direction. ALWAYS keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot. ALWAYS keep the gun unloaded until you're ready to use it. ALWAYS handle a gun as if it is loaded."
It's a drill we repeat throughout the weekend.
Dean and Gary teach us how guns work, how to check them to see if they're loaded, what to do if one jams or misfires.
I find I don't always understand what they're talking about. I raise my hand and ask questions to which everyone else already knows the answer.
...
Click here to read more (http://www.boulderweekly.com/uncensored.html)
by Pamela White
My first feeling at the sight of the desert mesas, the rolling Colorado River and the green valley below is one of intense homesickness. My parents live about 50 miles to the south in Montrose. I haven't been home for almost two years, and I'm not going home now.
Today my road ends in Palisade. I've come to hold up my end of a deal.
Ari Armstrong, a libertarian whose writing appears periodically in Boulder Weekly, publicly challenged me to take a National Rifle Association personal defense course ("Pamela White gun challenge," Speaking Out, Dec. 19, 2002). His challenge came in response to a column I had written about the night my apartment was broken into by two men with switchblades. Saved from being raped at knifepoint by the timely intervention of two CU police officers, I spent years coping with the trauma of that incident.
My column was intended to share what I felt was some level of transcendence over the violence of that night. In the column, I explained that, although I'd have shot and killed the two intruders if I'd had a gun that night, I now feel violence is not the answer, even when the issue is self-defense. ("The night I would have killed," Uncensored, Aug. 22, 2002.)
In response, Ari wrote, "It pained me to read her ignorant perspective on gun ownership and the right of self-defense... She misunderstands the nature of self-defense and the appropriate use of a gun."
Not one to turn down a dare, I publicly accepted his offer.
As Lee Boren, an NRA member and lifelong hunter whom I was about to meet would say, "A deal is a deal. You stick to it until hell freezes over and you've walked five miles on the ice."
Ari tells me he hopes two things will come out of this weekend. He hopes first of all to demystify guns so that I come to see them as tools, as opposed to little metallic monsters, the embodiment of violence and evil. He also hopes to combat stereotypes I might have about people whom we in Boulder might simply call "gun nuts."
We stay the night at the home of his father and stepmother, Linn and Sharon Armstrong. Linn is a Vietnam Veteran, a certified NRA instructor and one of the founders of this course, which has trained some 2,000 people since 1991.
I go to bed feeling more than a little nervous. Before I fall asleep, Neo pops into my mind. "Guns," he says. "Lots of guns."
I've never even held a gun.
Digging double taps
The first day of the class starts at 7 a.m. No skinny vanilla latté to wake me up, just the scenery--green orchards, the high walls of the desert canyon and the muddy waters of the Colorado.
We arrive at the Grand Valley Training Club, and I meet Dean Blanck, our lead instructor. He helps me sign in, hands me a packet of information.
Right away I realize something significant: I'm the only gun virgin in the room. Everyone else has arrived carrying handguns, which they deposit on a table. They all know each other and talk in code.
"D'you bring your 22 or the semi-auto?"
"Gonna try my 22 today. Bringin' my new nine millimeter tomorrow."
Whatever. I slink into a corner, the lone representative of the People's Republic.
Dean and Gary Barto spend the morning instructing us in basic handgun safety.
"ALWAYS keep your gun pointed in a safe direction. ALWAYS keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot. ALWAYS keep the gun unloaded until you're ready to use it. ALWAYS handle a gun as if it is loaded."
It's a drill we repeat throughout the weekend.
Dean and Gary teach us how guns work, how to check them to see if they're loaded, what to do if one jams or misfires.
I find I don't always understand what they're talking about. I raise my hand and ask questions to which everyone else already knows the answer.
...
Click here to read more (http://www.boulderweekly.com/uncensored.html)