I’m sure everyone has heard or read something about the mass shooting in Tucson, Arizona over the weekend. Some reports are calling it an assassination attempt, but the attack wasn’t on just one person, it was on a large group of people — normal, every-day citizens as well as government officials.

Apparently the gunman was stopped when some of those normal, every-day citizens bravely responded by counter-attacking when the gunman had to reload his pistol. They attacked with their bare hands and bodies.

I don’t throw around the word “hero” as easily as some people do, (especially like those in the media do), but a person who chooses to physically jump on a gunman instead of running away qualifies as a hero in my definition. (This is *not* to say that someone who runs from a gunman is in any way a coward — running away from a nutcase with a weapon is a wise and perfectly sensible thing to do.)

Now imagine what could have happened if even one of those citizens was armed. Instead of jumping the crazy shooter after he shot off all the (30!) bullets in his first magazine, maybe someone could have dropped him before he fired more than a handful of bullets.

If guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns.

An armed society is a polite society.

Some people are scared of the idea of weapons in the hands of law-abiding citizens. I’m not so much. I’m much more fearful of weapons in the hands of criminals and lunatics.

My brother has a concealed-carry permit, and he regularly carries a concealed weapon. He’s had the proper, official training, (not to mention he grew up, like me, with many guns in our home), and I know his temperament — he’s not a hothead likely to pull a weapon for any reason other than dire danger. A room with my brother, armed, in it is safer than a room without him. (Excepting a police station full of cops, or a military base full of soldiers/marines/etc.)

Brogrit moving boxes at our mom’s house over the Christmas holiday:

If I lived in a less complicated environment, (that is: without young children), I might also carry a concealed weapon. But my life situation makes carrying a weapon more of an everyday complication weighed against the likelihood of ever needing a weapon right at hand. I do own quite a few firearms, but they aren’t ready for immediate action. Given an hour’s warning, I’d be very ready for a Russian Invasion or the Zombie Apocalypse. (I even have a fully functional sword and shield.)

But, so I’m not completely defenseless against random outlaws and lunatics, I have black-belt training in tae kwon do, (as well as lower-level training in karate and jujutsu), to at least give me an edge in any situation short of facing a gun. I’m not self-delusional enough to think I’m Chuck Norris — I know I’d probably be beat up by a big, strong, determined, enraged, and/or crazy attacker, but I feel I could at least fight long enough that my wife and children, (and anyone else around), could get away before I was destroyed.

A lunatic with a gun is a terrible thing. But a lawful citizen with a gun can be a wonderful thing. I hope I’m never in a crowd with the first, but I’m pretty comfortable in a crowd with the second. In fact, if I am ever in a crowd with the former, I hope the latter is also present.

Bullgrit

Our oldest little calf has turned 10 years old. Holy moly! A decade. When he was born, Cowgrit and I were just in our early thirties, less than six years married.

I remember before we became preggers, my mom asked me if we were going to have children, and I responded with, “We’ve taken the goalie off the field.” She didn’t get the reference until my step-dad gave a hint or two.

When Cowgrit became pregnant, the doc calculated the day of birth at December 24. Well, our little Calfgrit was apparently quite comfortable where he was, and decided to stay put for another week and a half. When he finally came into the world, he was a beautiful baby. In fact, he was so beautiful, the hospital newborn photographer asked our permission, (after we made our photo purchasing decisions), to post a copy of his pic in her office as a sample.

His first week of life was pretty rough. But he got over it. He’s a healthy, happy, boy.

He loves to read, All. The. Time. Oh my god, he almost always has a book in his hands. We have to enforce a “No books at the dinner table” rule, else he forgets to eat. We also have to enforce no book in the bathroom – potty and bath – else he forgets to get up or wash. Now that he’s taking showers instead of baths, he actually once asked his little brother to hold a book just outside the shower so he could read it while washing.

He loves his quiet creative play time, too. Legos and action figures. This is where he’s a lot like I was at his age. (I didn’t start reading much until in my teens.) I watch him playing quietly with his toys on the floor in his room, and I remember my own such times. Different toys, different stories, but the core activity is all the same.

Seeing myself in him brings me both joy and worry. Maybe he’ll grow out of it.

Bullgrit

Going through my dad’s house last month, we found a lot of interesting old family memorabilia. Among the random papers, we found this old Christmas wish list:

Researching some of the toys in this list, I figure this was probably for the Christmas of 1975. I would have been 8 years old, and brogrit would have been 3, going on 4 years old.

The cursive writing, both pencil and pen, looks like my dad’s, and the large text printed in pencil was probably my own. The black boxes are just to conceal our names — mine, brogrit’s, our dad’s, and our mom’s.

• Six Million Dollar Man game
• Evel Knievel Formula 1 Dragster
• G.I. Joe
• Hotwheels cars

Oh, I remember all of those. Good times.

And little brogrit wanted western play wear and a fun tunnel. Sweet little guy. [pats his head and tousles his hair]

I also see that at 8 years old, I was getting a bb gun. Booya! (I never shot my eye out.) And my little brother was getting some trucks. I’m sure I never teased him or talked down to him when I got my big boy toys.

“You go push your plastic fire truck, little boy,” I would never have said, “I’m going to go shoot stuff with my real bb gun.”

There’s got to be a picture of brogrit in his cute western play wear.

Bullgrit

It’s seemed like a long time, but it’s only been . . . let’s see . . . December 17th . . . holy crap! I’ve gone 12 days without a post! Let me do a quick catch up:

We made a gingerbread house.

We made Christmas cupcakes to take on our Christmas Day visits.

We made Christmas cookies for Santa’s visit.

Santa came over Christmas Eve night and left toys for the boys.

I had to put together the toys Christmas morning.

^^ That’s 933 pieces of Lego!

Christmas afternoon and evening, we went to two other Christmas in my hometown; it was a whirlwind of Christmas Day activity.

It snowed about 5 inches Christmas night, starting just after we got back home.

There, that catches up by skipping over all the really interesting details. I’ll fill in the details soon.

Apologies all around for being a slackass over the past two weeks.

Bullgrit