Cleaning My Gun

The wind blew north along the beach. The drying sand swirled and flowed in a corrosive current, like a sheer river of mist. This, after the rain had stopped.

I had taken a walk with my camera, hoping to capture an interesting image, but only managing to muck up the works with rain, sand and salt.

Fortunately, my spacious, but over-stuffed, camera bag contained all of the cleaning supplies I could ever hope to need.

And so, I sat, with my scotch in front of the fire, armed with brushes and blowers and solutions and compounds. I had soft rags and lens tissues. I had everything I needed for the delicate maintenance task at hand.

So, slowly and methodically, I removed and cleaned each component. taking care to protect the all-important glass. It was time consuming, but meditative, and I enjoyed the detail.

The missus noted my calm focus and asked whether I enjoyed cleaning my camera as much as I enjoyed cleaning my gun.

"Good question," I thought.

My gun is a stainless steel Smith and Wesson .357 revolver. Some of you have seen it. Some of you have fired it. Some of you were there with your own guns when we shot down that tree...

I like to shoot my gun, whether with the wimpy .38 practice rounds, or with the occasional .357 magnum rounds that wake the mountain gods from their slumber.

The only thing I like more about my gun than shooting it, perhaps, is cleaning it. It is a quiet steady ritual that involves a cold drink and solitary attention to detail.

That image, though, conjures another thought. A cliche. A gender-based hang-up perpetuated by old fashioned western values.

As I clean my gun, even as I did so a decade ago, before I was even close to parenthood, I pictured myself polishing the cold steel as my daughter's date rang the door bell to pick her up...

She is only three now, so, I'm still a good distance from that time. However, I hope now, as I look ahead, that my vision will not come to pass.

Sure, I know that teenage boys are testosterone-ridden maniacs hell-bent on only one goal. But I hope to be able to trust her judgment. I hope not to have, and therefore not pass down, the same puritanical prejudices against sexuality that were passed down to me.

I hope that by that time, I will have prepared her to make her own reasonable and responsible choices, to have the self-confidence and assertiveness, so that I do not have to resort to threats or fear to maintain control.

Still, I'm not sure how I'm going to do that. So, for now, I'll keep the gun, as well as the camera, clean and in good working order.