Some years back, friends whom I had trained advanced in their training, and obtained certification to teach CCW in Arizona. They encouraged me to do the same, and on multiple occasions we trained small groups of students to apply for their permits. These were good times.
But I marred one of our last teaching sessions. And I was alleged to be the more experienced teacher and shooter!
This was when Arizona required 16 hours (usually taught over two days) including range time, to complete the written and field test for qualification. I was pretty full of myself. Cocky. And had expectations students had been as steeped in MY old school thinking: Col. Cooper, calibers beginning with the number 4, that sort of thing.
We asked the students to bring in their choice of firearm for the range qualification (to check for safety), and one young gentleman brought in a Beretta model 21 Bobcat, in .25 ACP.
I, unfortunately, commented negatively on his choice of firearm, and caliber. I did stop short of questioning his manhood, however. He did mention he wanted to purchase a J-Frame .38 Smith, and I applauded that as a better choice. And the next day @ quals, that’s what he had. And I spent extra time familiarizing him with the revolver, technique, and getting him qualified.
After the class, Stan (of Karmann and Stan, my students turned teachers) took me aside and gently suggested that my approach was wrong, that perhaps we shouldn’t beat up students.
And he was right, of course.
Never question another’s choice of firearm. It might not be YOUR choice, but so what? As long as it’s safe, appropriateness can be discussed in class, generally.
On my masthead, just below ‘Guffaw in Az’, is my motto. A phrase which has been defining much of my life, even before I began blogging.
“Struggling to keep what is rightfully his, but with a hearty laugh.”
This is in part because over the years, my financial success has been marginal (largely due to my own character defects) and also in part due to my various health issues. Statistics state I should be long gone, but I’m still flipping off the Reaper.
Now that I’m medically disabled, by income has dropped significantly from my 20+ years tenure @ TMCCC, and with this loss a plethora of financial ‘issues’ have developed. One of these was a choice: buy food, or make the mortgage payment. I chose the former.
You remember my previous postings regarding a project? This is about said project.
And the mortgage company finally decided I should leave. And so I have. And Molly’s basketball goal must stay.
Rancho Guffaw is no more. The two-bedroom, one bath home I bought to share with my daughter has reverted to the bank. It was a good fight, and perhaps I could have done more to save it. But the house is my age, and continues to need maintenance. With my current financial condition, I might have been able to get square but then there were always other issues. Like roofing, and repiping. And, I’m simply not financially equipped to do that.
Thankfully, I’ve not had to depend on the kindness of strangers. A good friend has offered me a place to land, open-ended. A spare room large enough to be called an apartment. And I’ll be splitting the expenses. Hopefully both of us will be saving some money.
“Guffaw’s Mancave?” ” Guffaw’s Freehold?” Haven’t come up with a suitable name, yet.
But, I’m still here, tired, but still kicking, and surprisingly, still laughing heartily. All’s right with the World. – Guffaw
Bayou Renaissance Man offers some examples culled from the Great Depression Story Project (Ohio). Published in four parts during 2009, it’s a collection of the recorded memories of those who lived through the Great Depression of the 1930’s. Not only is it a valuable historical resource, but with our own economic situation as parlous as it is right now, we might all be able to learn something from these reminiscences of how our forefathers coped under even worse circumstances.
A couple examples:
“I saw some of the kids (at school) eat banana rinds that other kids had thrown away. Mom would pack my lunch with bread and apple butter and sometimes I had a fried egg sandwich and that was better than a lot of them had. Thank God.”
– Charles Warrick, age 81, Barnesville
“After a few days there, my father was very concerned about our survival. One cold winter morning, he got up very early, dressed as warmly as he could and left walking. He said: ‘I will not be back until I find a job.’ My mother was very worried about him; she thought he may not make it back. He stopped at a farm house four miles away. A man (there) had a trucking business. My Dad told the man: ‘We have just moved in. I have no job. I have a wife and nine children. I need work. We have no coal for heat and very little food.’ The man said: ‘Go with me today and help me, we will get coal and groceries on the way home.’ There was no phone; we did not know where he was. At 10 p.m., we saw a vehicle coming up the lane. It was the man with the trucking business. I will never forget the tears in my Mother’s eyes, as she hugged my Dad. My Dad worked for the man for $1 a day, until spring. He then got a job working on the road, pounding up rocks. He got $1 a day.”
– Neva Rees, age 87, Marietta
There are many other examples at the link.
Let us hope we’re not in for times such as these, and be grateful for our situations, as, speaking at least for myself, things could be worse. – Guffaw