I found this little gem I had written in a file from Advent, 2010:
If you do not like guns, or the people that own them, you will not appreciate the experience that I will recount below. So please, do yourself (and me) a favor, and read something more to your taste. Perhaps something on global warming, since this is turning out to be the coldest winter in the past one hundred years.
At the tender age of fifteen, in the year 1980, my dad and I were invited to a neighbor’s house on a Saturday during the summer of that year. That detail would be otherwise boring were it not for the fact that our neighbor was a federal firearms dealer and collector of many handguns of various calibers, actions, and firing mechanisms. We spent an afternoon firing .22, .38, .357, and .45 caliber revolvers and semiautomatics. I was particularly drawn to his .357 Magnum revolver that I was privileged to shoot… a lot. I determined that I had to have one of my own. It was a Dan Wesson .357 with an 8-inch ventilated rib heavy barrel and zebra wood handles. I told Dad that I wanted one for Christmas. I wonder how often Santa gets requests for .357 Magnums?
Dad always had a bit of a conniving (all in good fun) manner about him, especially when it involved his only son. That of course would be me. Shortly after I presented my Christmas wish list to him, Dad informed me that due to heavy demand and backlog at the Dan Wesson plant, orders for handguns could not be filled until spring of the following year. Always way too gullible myself, I believed him without question. The ruse became even bigger. He even involved one of my teachers in this twisted web of deception. Sometime around Thanksgiving, Dad spent a Friday night and Saturday working with the dads of many of my classmates putting down new flooring that had just arrived for the school’s basketball court. During that time, he must have told my teacher, Mr. Lowe, to ask me what was going to happen next spring. When I returned to school on Monday, Mr. Lowe dutifully asked me what was going to happen next spring. How the heck would he know about that? If I had any doubt about the delayed delivery of the gun at all, my own teacher was confirming (though he did not realize it) that I would not get it for several months… not at Christmas!
The weeks went slowly by, but Christmas finally arrived. Thinking as I did that I would not receive the pistol at Christmas, Dad’s capacity for trickery still had not been exhausted. The first present he wanted me to open on Christmas Eve was a very nice gun case, just large enough for a revolver with an 8-inch barrel. It seemed to have something in it. Could it be the revol… no, it was a toy cowboy gun that shot caps! Dad just wanted to put it in the case so that I would know how the future occupant of the case would look… next spring. I’m sure I opened other packages containing standard socks and underwear until one large and heavy rectangular package remained. It seemed to be certain now… no pistol until spring… just a gun case for a cap gun! Being the thankful fifteen year old with a façade of joy, I proceeded to open this last gift wondering what other cunning display was hidden behind brightly colored Christmas paper and bows. As I tore the paper, I saw a picture on the front of a box that appeared to be… no, it couldn’t be… a revolver… Dan Wesson. Is there no end to this game? What else could he have hidden in this box? Where did he even find the box? As I raised the Styrofoam lid to this box, my eyes beheld what appeared to be the pistol that was not supposed to be ready until next spring. How did he get it shipped early? Wait a minute. Is this Candid Camera? I soon realized that for many weeks I had fallen victim to his clever, yet loving, deception.
In all fairness to my late mother, I should note that she was not as thrilled as I or my Dad about this Christmas “gift”. I guess she eventually learned to accept it. After all it is East Tennessee. We rung in Christmas that night by shooting the new pistol in the backyard and frightening my uncle and aunt next door, but that’s another matter for another time.
What is perhaps more memorable than the gift itself, is all the planning and intrigue of my loving father leading up to this very special Christmas.
If you do not like guns, or the people that own them, you will not appreciate the experience that I will recount below. So please, do yourself (and me) a favor, and read something more to your taste. Perhaps something on global warming, since this is turning out to be the coldest winter in the past one hundred years.
At the tender age of fifteen, in the year 1980, my dad and I were invited to a neighbor’s house on a Saturday during the summer of that year. That detail would be otherwise boring were it not for the fact that our neighbor was a federal firearms dealer and collector of many handguns of various calibers, actions, and firing mechanisms. We spent an afternoon firing .22, .38, .357, and .45 caliber revolvers and semiautomatics. I was particularly drawn to his .357 Magnum revolver that I was privileged to shoot… a lot. I determined that I had to have one of my own. It was a Dan Wesson .357 with an 8-inch ventilated rib heavy barrel and zebra wood handles. I told Dad that I wanted one for Christmas. I wonder how often Santa gets requests for .357 Magnums?
Dad always had a bit of a conniving (all in good fun) manner about him, especially when it involved his only son. That of course would be me. Shortly after I presented my Christmas wish list to him, Dad informed me that due to heavy demand and backlog at the Dan Wesson plant, orders for handguns could not be filled until spring of the following year. Always way too gullible myself, I believed him without question. The ruse became even bigger. He even involved one of my teachers in this twisted web of deception. Sometime around Thanksgiving, Dad spent a Friday night and Saturday working with the dads of many of my classmates putting down new flooring that had just arrived for the school’s basketball court. During that time, he must have told my teacher, Mr. Lowe, to ask me what was going to happen next spring. When I returned to school on Monday, Mr. Lowe dutifully asked me what was going to happen next spring. How the heck would he know about that? If I had any doubt about the delayed delivery of the gun at all, my own teacher was confirming (though he did not realize it) that I would not get it for several months… not at Christmas!
The weeks went slowly by, but Christmas finally arrived. Thinking as I did that I would not receive the pistol at Christmas, Dad’s capacity for trickery still had not been exhausted. The first present he wanted me to open on Christmas Eve was a very nice gun case, just large enough for a revolver with an 8-inch barrel. It seemed to have something in it. Could it be the revol… no, it was a toy cowboy gun that shot caps! Dad just wanted to put it in the case so that I would know how the future occupant of the case would look… next spring. I’m sure I opened other packages containing standard socks and underwear until one large and heavy rectangular package remained. It seemed to be certain now… no pistol until spring… just a gun case for a cap gun! Being the thankful fifteen year old with a façade of joy, I proceeded to open this last gift wondering what other cunning display was hidden behind brightly colored Christmas paper and bows. As I tore the paper, I saw a picture on the front of a box that appeared to be… no, it couldn’t be… a revolver… Dan Wesson. Is there no end to this game? What else could he have hidden in this box? Where did he even find the box? As I raised the Styrofoam lid to this box, my eyes beheld what appeared to be the pistol that was not supposed to be ready until next spring. How did he get it shipped early? Wait a minute. Is this Candid Camera? I soon realized that for many weeks I had fallen victim to his clever, yet loving, deception.
In all fairness to my late mother, I should note that she was not as thrilled as I or my Dad about this Christmas “gift”. I guess she eventually learned to accept it. After all it is East Tennessee. We rung in Christmas that night by shooting the new pistol in the backyard and frightening my uncle and aunt next door, but that’s another matter for another time.
What is perhaps more memorable than the gift itself, is all the planning and intrigue of my loving father leading up to this very special Christmas.
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