Ladies (and gents), it pleases me to no end to invite you all to read below, a guest post by the ever amazing Momma Fargo. What? You have not read anything by Momma Fargo? Don't mind me saying so, but I highly suggest you rectify that situation post haste! Momma Fargo- a one of a kind, witty, intelligent, talented writer is not just a Pistol Packin' Momma- oh no. Momma Fargo is also a law enforcement officer in the wilds of the north west. Her blog is filled with insight, humor, heartbreak and a birds eye view of what being a "girl" in law enforcement is about. Five star reading to be sure!
With out further ado, I present
Enjoy! And be SURE to pay her a visit!
First, let me tell you what an honor it is to be a part of Girls With Guns! I’m so flattered I think I’m going to pee my pants! Stand by…
OK.*tap, tap* Is this thing on? Ok. I put my big girl panties on. No bladder problems…or at least I think I can, I think I can… But… I’m so excited! OOOOey and we get to talk about guns. ..and safety…and being a big girl in this world!
I was not always so excited about guns. Let me take you back to my experience. See…my dad was a tough guy…a man’s man. And well, I was the oldest. Although he wanted me to be a lady…I fished, I rode wild horses, I drove tractors, I got dirty. At 8…dad decided I was old enough to have my first gun. Mind you…I wasn’t thrilled. I mean, seriously…they didn’t even come in pink back then.
He had me open it up...all wrapped pretty…a shiny Remington .22 rifle. A brick of .22 shells to boot. Weak smile…”thanks, dad”…and in brown. At 8…PINK was my world. Oh…I was a tomboy..but I loved pink. Later, I would learn that brown and green are my favorite colors…such as in …camoflauge. YEAHUS!
Oh...it didn’t stop there. Dad took me to the haystack where he was so excited for me to shoot my first round. I imagine I had a trench from the house to the haystack where he shoved me in my boots all the way there, toting the .22 rilfe and tiny shiny bullets.
I remembered he put some tin cans up on some bales…Olympia beer type to be exact…his beer of choice which later turned into Miller. But that’s a different story. I digress. Back to the gun thingy. “A lady has to know how to defend herself”, he always said...”besides you can start practicin’ by shooting all those gophers that are playing hell with my irrigation ditches.” Call me a naysayer…but protect myself against gophers…prairie dogs…what? It was 1975 for Pete’s sake. ..not like the age of crime these days. What? Was the grain man going to rape me in the wood shed? I thought dad was on crack…although at 8 I didn’t even know what crack was…unless it was that stuff plumber’s were made out of.
So…days of Ward and June…you didn’t argue with your dad…or your mom who was always wielding a fly swatter as her weapon of choice next to flying her broom. You did as you were told. I did as I was told. I think I was sweating bullets.
All I really remember about that day after the first fire…was I fell down. Not from the kick of the gun mind you…afterall, it was just a .22 long gun. No kick. I was so scared that the big “boom!” …ok it was more like a pop…frightened me to the ground…causing me…to throw the gun forward like a hot potato. And it was the devil. Dad was none too proud of that one…but he laughed hysterically…and like a good father would…GIT BACK UP ON THAT HARSE! Damn the luck. I had to do it again and again and again. If I didn’t like it…I had better fake it that guns were a girls’ best friend. Dammit. Where’s my Barbies?
In fact…I still sit here today wondering when they are going to have a gun totin’ Barbie? Come on!
I had the best father in the world. Even though he was rough and tough like John Wayne, he had a heart of gold and taught me many valuable lessons in the world. He still is my voice of reason... although he has been gone since I was 21.
Sgt. Downtown Brown and I took out my first .22 rifle just the other day…oiled it up…and shot it off the back deck like a couple of hillbillies. It still works…like a charm. Oh…I’ve added a scope and a bigger magazine..a girl’s gotta have a little fun, right?
I have come more accustomed to shooting since I became a cop. I still have a lot to learn…and I can’t own enough guns or have too much ammunition. Thanks, Dad.
So with that…I would tell any woman out there who is thinking of carrying or shooting a gun…
(1) Do it at least once. If it scares you…get a good trainer and practice. Be familiar with it. Be comfortable…it might save your life one day. Be the gun!
(2) If you can’t like it or can’t get comfortable…don’t pack it. You are a danger to yourself and others. Get a dog. And make it a mean one and walk it. In public.
(3) Buy it in pink. Guns with sparkle farkle are cool. Trust me. My daughter has a pink .22 rifle. I tried to steal it… once. Just once. She squealed like a good girl should when someone tries to steal your gun.
(4) Take a safety course. Do it! Even if you don’t like guns or want one. (Are you crazy? Guns rock!) Actually, you might have to take it away from someone someday. Don’t be without knowledge.
(5) Don’t ever let your gun collect dust. Practice, practice.
(6) Clean it like you do your hoohah. Clean barrels make sharp shooters. Yes, I’m talking about the guns.
And that leads to safety awareness. PAY ATTENTION! Do I need to preach this? Don’t be distracted. Walk tall. Carry yourself with confidence. Scan your surroundings. Pack your heater (not a frickin’ Lennox stove) and know when you need to grab it or your (not for cooking) or both. Take a self-defense class and a shooting class. Arm yourself with knowledge! And remember one thing….if the hairs on your neck go up…it’s for a reason…even if you don’t see a threat. Don’t ignore what is naturally born in us. Be a woman…and a strong woman…wherever you are.
Socker games are deadly, ladies! Trust me! Ok…maybe a little over the top on that one…but you never know…that was the point I was making.
Thank you to the GIRLS for letting me guest post. It has been a HUGE honor! Keep up the fantastic work!