The greatest responsibility: There is no shortcut to the vital task of raising children who are safe around firearms

Guns Magazine, Jan 1, 2002 by John Taffin

I've often felt that was fortunate to grow up during a great time for kids, and also in a town that was definitely kid-friendly. Back then, America was a different place. Divorce and broken families were virtually unheard of. In my fourth-grade class I was the only kid whose last name was different than his parents. My own father had been killed before I was a year old and my mother remarried when I was three. My step-dad, who was too old to be drafted, enlisted in the Army and was shipped off to Europe. For much of my young life I could not understand why he would enlist and go off to war when he did not have to serve. He did not own a house or even a car, and he certainly did not have great standing in society. But he had attributes that I had not yet learned the importance of, and key among these was a love of freedom and a sense of duty to country and community.

The America That Was

My parents were great teachers. They were part of the Greatest Generation, living through the Great Depression and World War II. We were always relatively poor, but my folks were proud people and never accepted charity of any kind. I still well remember the stinging rebuke I received from my step-dad when I suggested that with his retirement income he was eligible for food stamps! My parents taught me the meaning of responsibility for my actions to treat all people with respect, to work hard, to always give more than required, to be dependable and loyal, to love my country and freedom, and to remember that my actions reflected upon them as parents.

Long before Harry Truman proclaimed "The Buck Stops Here!" my parents lived by such a code. They also taught me that the simple things in life were very important, especially when shared with family. For them, popcorn and Kool-aid on Saturday night shared with family was preferred over champagne and steak with strangers. Neither of my folks ever graduated from high school; my step-dad only made it to the fourth grade. Because of that, my education was tremendously important to them. I had better not come home from school with a note indicating that I was in trouble, or I was really in trouble.

When it came to school and any problems that might erupt, teachers and principals seemed to be equipped with the wisdom and common sense to settle the issue. Most of what I was taught by my parents was backed up by public school, church, and even many movies.

Today as a reaction to some random acts of violence, schools have drafted a no exceptions, zero-tolerance policy toward "weapons" of any kind, real or imagined. We have all heard of kids being suspended from school for things such as drawing pictures of weapons or even pointing their finger as if it were a gun. Schools are searching for answers and having a difficult time coming up with them. In my grade-school days after World War II, we all drew pictures depicting soldiers and battles from the war. And zero was the number of boys who did not carry a pocket knife.

Those knives were used for many things, not the least of which was playing mumbletypeg at recess and at lunchtime. If you don't know what mumbletypeg is, ask your dad or granddad. I was the proud "Keeper of the Blade" in my fourth-grade class. Any time the teacher needed a package or carton opened, the task fell to my blade. Today such a teacher would be fired. Such is progress! We all had knives, and they were never used in anything but a positive way. Obviously the mere presence of a "weapon" does not cause violence.

A Changing World

Though I did not realize it at the time, it was a sad moment when television arrived. Something drastically changed. Slowly but surely each household acquired one, and the neighborhood streets were soon deserted as everyone packed into their living rooms to stare at the little box. Visiting, socializing, and knowing one's neighbors had all ended. I didn't know it at the time, but I had witnessed a veritable social revolution. No longer would neighbors know one another, and it felt as if the days of feeling safe and secure were behind us.

In the America of my youth, fathers and grandfathers passed on not only responsible and safe handling of firearms, but responsibility in all areas of life as well. We were still a country with large rural areas where guns were treated as the tools they were. My step-dad had no use for guns after the war, but my uncle had handguns, rifles and shotguns on his farm where I spent considerable time learning to shoot. More importantly, however, I learned the safe and responsible handling of firearms.

We did not have guns at home, but state law allowed the purchase of firearms at the age of 16. I waited until I was one month past my 17th birthday to purchase my first very-own firearm, a Marlin .22 levergun that I still have today. Mom and Dad were not happy and told me so in no uncertain terms. A few weeks later when I bought my first .22 Single-Six, they were still upset but not quite as much. By the time I brought my third gun home, it was "Hey Johnny, show Uncle Chuck your new gun!"