There are many reasons why I like guns and shooting. There is a personal satisfaction (at the simplest level it is just a small release of endorphins to chemically make me happy) in being able to guide an incredibly small piece of lead over a vast distance into a target sometimes not much larger than the bullet itself on nothing but a whim. To turn what to some may be just a shiny conical object into a hot, lethal projectile with nothing more than the lightest touch. To so non-chalantly send a bullet into a tragic destiny; despite being so minute and unremarkable they carry the weight to change the world. Whether it is the infinitesimally small path of putting a hole in a piece of paper and getting caught in a range berm for all eternity or the earth shattering task of stopping the worlds most cruel terrorist, bullets truthfully are more powerful than some of us can comprehend.
And yet, many of us control this on a day to day basis. We harness this power, the "controlled explosions", for food, protection, pleasure and even for the simple reason that we CAN. And this is done responsibly with an accidental mortality rate far below that of automobiles, slips and falls, even 5 gallon food grade buckets! I control this thing, this smattering of steel springs, sprockets and whatchmacallits. I take great pleasure in its care, its use and its function. There is a large deal of satisfaction in working on or building your own firearm (or knife, or car, or radio, etc…) and who is to say that I am not allowed to do what makes me happy? When someone asks why I like guns I ask if they’ve ever even held one. Just holding a gun makes me feel a bit giddy on the inside, I still feel like that twelve year old picking up my Gamo .177 to keep rabbits away from my mother’s garden. There is a bond that we make with such things. My Gamo still sits in my closet, and it likes to stretch its legs once in a while. Every scratch, nick and gouge in the stock and finish tells a story. Each gun takes on a persona, creates its life story in your hands; we give them a past, present and future. While we have such incredible power and control over them we develop a sort of pet relationship with them. We constantly clean and wash and pamper them, mostly so we can ensure that they’ll do what we ask of them when we see fit.
Anyway, I’m taking up too much space. I bond with my guns, I always do some sort of work on them and learn their quirks and how they “feel”, what they like and dislike. In this I find satisfaction in that I can do it, that I can coax a machine into putting projectiles into very small holes, that I can say that I built this and it WORKS. There is no greater pride than that of an accomplished man (or woman). Guns are fun and I have yet to meet someone that agreed to go to the range with me that came back saying that they still didn’t like or see why guns are fun. Cheers.