"I carry a gun..."

"...because a cop is too heavy."

This is the response I normally give people when they ask me why I have a Concealed Weapons Permit and carry a concealed firearm. I give this answer when a) I'm not in the mood to go into lengthy explanations as to why it's a good idea to be able to protect your own life instead of relying on someone else to do it for you, or b) the person asking the question is a borderline idiot and/or a "Brady Bunch" kinda person whom I'd rather not waste my time with.

But just for the sake of the argument - that, plus the fact that this is my blog - let's take a look at that simple statement, shall we?

"I carry a gun because a cop is too heavy." So just what, exactly, do I mean by that? Simple - I'd rather be able to protect my own life right then and there, at that moment in time when it needs to be protected, than wait for a police officer to arrive on the scene and assist me because by the time he'd get there, I'd already be dead and my killer would be long gone.

Before I get too deeply into this, let me state right now that I have ZERO problem with the police. Hell, I was a Law Enforcement Specialist in the Air Force for 19 of the 23 years I was in, so I know just what police work is all about. I know about response times and things like that, and for that reason alone I'd MUCH rather be able to protect myself rather than wait for the SEVEN TO TEN MINUTES it will take a police car to reach you when you make the 911 call. The bad guys ain't gonna wait that long, count on it.

Aside from that, the courts have stated in plain language that the police have no responsibility to protect you from harm or act as a bodyguard. That's because it's not their friggin' job! Their job is law enforcement, NOT personal protection. Anyone who thinks that the job of the police is to protect you from harm 24 hours a day, 7 days a week is living in a dream world. There is a HUGE difference between "law enforcement" and "personal protection," lemme tell ya! And it is NOT the cops' job to protect you...that's why we have (drum roll, please!) THE SECOND AMENDMENT. It's YOUR job to protect YOURSELF, and our Founding Fathers gave us the means to do it.

My life is worth protecting, and it's so valuable to me that I absolutely refuse to entrust that duty to anyone else. Period. I'd rather do it myself, and I absolutely will and do arm myself to do just that. I also think that the lives of my family and friends are equally as valuable and worth protecting, and I absolutely would not hesitate to pop a cap in your ass if you threaten me, my family, or my friends with serious bodily injury and/or death. It's just that simple.

Okay, so for all of you nice folks out there who disagree with what I've said so far, lemme paint a picture for you: it's 9:45PM, and you're just leaving the mall. You walk out into the parking lot and approach your car when you notice two punks leaning against your car. You don't want your car beaten to death by all of the mall parking lot morons, so you park in Outer Mongolia rather than park next to the building, which means that you're on the far end of the parking lot and way out of casual view by the other folks leaving the mall. As you approach your car, the two punks stand up and approach you, one standing in front of you and the other placing himself off to your right, far enough so that you can't see them both at the same time. The one standing in front of you produces a knife and snarls, "Gimme the money, muthafucka, or I'm gonna cut you!"

Pop quiz, hotshot: WHAT DO YOU DO NOW? Your choices are:

a) Ask the young man to wait while you call 911 on your cell phone
b) Give him your money and hope that he doesn't cut you up like a loaf of rye bread anyway
c) Tell him you don't have any money and hope that he doesn't cut you up like a loaf of rye bread anyway
d) Draw your legally-carried concealed .357 Magnum and chide the young man for bringing a knife to a gunfight.

True story, folks. Happened to me coming out of the Coliseum Mall in Hampton, Virginia one hot July night in 1994. As soon as the pistol came out, the knife hit the ground and the two punks ran for their lives. Thankfully, I didn't have to shoot anybody. But I would have, count on it. Had the punk not dropped the knife or had he taken so much as one step towards me, I'd have blown his fuckin' head right off and not felt bad about it for a microsecond. Protecting my own life is that important to me, and it always will be.

Want to know a sure-fire way to lose my business forever if you're a business owner? Post a "No concealed weapons" sign on your door. Basically, what you're telling me is that in order to do business in your establishment, I have to give up my right to protect my own life.

Sorry, what you're selling isn't worth it.

Face facts, people - it's a tough world out there sometimes, and you better be able to take care of yourself when the crap hits the fan. All of the gun control laws in the world won't help you when you have a punk in your face with a knife or a gun, threatening your life and the lives of your loved ones. I'd be willing to bet that if that particular situation ever happened to Chuck Schumer, Ted Kennedy, or Billary Clinton, they'd be wishing to God for a pistol right about then.

As for me...well, I won't be wishing for a pistol.

I'll be deciding WHICH ONE to use.

IHC

'Tis the season, I reckon...

So here it is two days before Christmas, but something feels different this year. The feeling about it just being different this year has been nagging on the outside of my conciousness for the past few weeks, and up until a few days ago I hadn't the slightest idea of what was causing it.

And then, out of the clear blue nowhere, I figured it out. I sat back one night and reflected on what I had been thinking about over the past few weeks, which were the Christmases past, and I suddenly realized why this year just felt different.

It was because of WHICH Christmases past I had been remembering.

I was remembering Christmas 1979, which was my first Christmas away from my family and my home. That year found me in the Air Force and stationed at Kunsan Air Base, South Korea. I was a Sergeant assigned to the Customs and Border Clearance Section of the 8th Security Police Squadron, and since I was working a Monday through Friday, 0700 to 1600 hours, weekends and holidays off REMF job (that's Rear Echelon Mother F*cker for you civilian types), I was off on Christmas Day. Me and the other dorm rats of Building 1423 threw a Christmas party, and I gotta say that it wasn't half bad. We were all intent on doing three things: having fun, getting drunk, and trying to forget that we were 12,000 miles away from home and family.

I was remembering Christmas of 1982 when I was a Staff Sergeant and a brand-new Military Training Instructor assigned to the 3711th Basic Military Training Squadron at Lackland AFB, Texas. I had just picked up my very first flight of basic trainees on December 17th, all of whom would be spending their very first Christmas in the Air Force away from their homes and families. I went through four Christmases like that, from 1982 to 1986.

I was remembering Christmas of 1989 when I was once again in South Korea, assigned to the 6168th Combat Support Squadron, Security Police Flight, Taegu Air Base. I was a Technical Sergeant assigned as the Flight Chief of a Law Enforcement Flight of eleven troops. No REMF job this time around, though - Christmas Eve found me working the swing shift, getting off duty at 2200 hours (ten PM) and then heading up to the NCO Club to have a few drinks, play some darts, and try to keep my mind off of the fact that I was once again on the other side of the world and away from my family during the holiday season.

I was remembering Christmas of 1990, the Christmas I was supposed to be spending with my family after being in Korea the year before, but Saddam Hussein screwed that up for me. That year found me assigned to the 1st Security Police Squadron, Langley Air Force Base, Virginia and deployed to Dhahran Air Base, Saudi Arabia in support of Operation DESERT SHIELD. This was a particularly hard one for me because it was the second year in a row I missed, and we were in a Muslim country which meant that we couldn't even decorate for the holidays. But that all banded us together somehow, that and the fact that we all knew the shooting was going to start pretty damned soon. I was off Christmas Day, but since we were in a dry country in a "bare base" environment, there really wasn't that much to do.

And then I would always find myself thinking about my son, who is currently in the Air Force and is a Technical Sergeant of Security Police, now deployed to Iraq for the second time away from his wife and family.

I find myself remembering what it was like to be a serviceman overseas away from family and friends and loved ones during this most special of holiday seasons, and I inevitably think of the men and women in uniform today, in that very same situation, far away from home, wishing they were all somewhere else.

And that's what's been bothering me this year; that's what has made this year different. I can't help but think about all of our servicemen and women who are far away from home and family, and I wish it wasn't so.

I also feel like I should be over there with them. Lonnie, Bulldog, I know you two understand, as will anyone else who's ever served.

So in the hustle and bustle of the next 48 hours, when you're busy unwrapping presents, drinking egg nogg, singing carols and celebrating with family and friends, please take a minute out of your day and remember the men and women in uniform who are protecting us and enabling us to celebrate, and who can't celebrate as we can because of where they are. Drink a toast to them and say a quick prayer of godspeed and safe journeys home, because they surely deserve it.

To my brothers and sisters in uniform around the globe - Merry Christmas, and God bless you all.

IHC