I’ve fired an AK-47, I think. It might have been an AR-15. Why don’t I know? I would know today, but this was when I first moved to the Ozarks and my real estate agent asked if I brought guns from California.
When I said I hadn’t, he left me two temporarily to see me through my first nights in my forest by the lake. “Is it dangerous here?” I asked. He said, no, it was perfectly safe. “Well, shoot,” I replied, amusing myself with the double meaning.
All I remember is that it was semi-automatic, made much noise, and you could pull the trigger again and again quite quickly. AK-47 or AR-15? The latter is statistically more likely and arguably a better weapon. However, AK-47 seems to stick in my mind, so that’s what I’m saying it was and I’m sticking to it. He also left me with a World War II standard-issue rifle, which I greatly preferred.
The contrast between acceptance of guns here in the Ozarks and the attitude around the Los Angeles area I left is startling. There, most people feared guns. There, some thought it was child abuse if you had a gun in your house. Here, it’s more likely to be considered child abuse if you don’t — you know, not caring about your kids enough to protect them and such.
Me? I’ve kind of melted into the Ozark way of thinking. I have three loaded hand guns within reach of my chair as I type this. Who would have thunk it? — MC
Mike Caro says: