A Legacy of Guns: Colt’s and Confusion

On April 24, 1991, I was born at 3:25pm. Family legend maintains that by the same time on April 25th, I was registered as a lifetime member of the National Rifle Association (NRA).

My Grandfather, Teddy “Bull” Jones, was the one who signed me up. Yes, his name was Teddy, not Theodore, on his birth certificate. And, yes, his nickname was actually Bull Jones. In fact, when my family visited his hometown in Iowa later, people did not know him by Teddy or Ted but as Bull. I promise this monicker was not derived from a propensity for bullshit, either. He was a decidedly no bullshit kind of guy; except when he was telling one of his jokes.

Later in life, when I have tried to picture this moment, I see my grandfather sitting in his office with everything filled out on the form. Just waiting on the official name so that he could register his grandson, his only grandson, to not only an organization but a set of principles about which he cared deeply.

As I stood by his coffin two years ago, I told this story to a collection of loved ones who had gathered to mourn and honor a great man. I tried to stand tall, but I cried as hard as I ever had. During the telling, I elicited many laughs as I had hoped the story would. Humor is a needed elixir in those painful moments. I was happy to have gotten that, but I ended up with much more: understanding.

I told them how I would use the story as an icebreaker or as a means to demonstrate to my friends the family lineage from which I come. I told them how this would first make people laugh then shortly thereafter ask a question along the lines of, “What the hell?” Then came the understanding. “They never understood it,” I said, “and, to be honest, I don’t think I ever understood it until this very moment.”

My last grandfather was gone, but his legacy — his love — was still with me.

I share this story for two reasons. Firstly, it brings me joy to remember him now that he is gone; to remember all of his flaws and all of his glories. However, the more important reason, at least for you the reader, is to show how deeply some of these issues around guns run for many of us in these United States of America and why the waters grow so murky as we try to wade through this emotional debate as a country.

This is part of my legacy. My father like his father owns guns, and I, like my father and his before him, own guns (my grandfather bequeathed them to me when I turned eighteen). Naturally, this frames part of my perspective about gun control. If you hadn’t guessed by now my grandfather was quite the ardent supporter of the Second Amendment.

My father is an ardent supporter of the Second Amendment also, and my perspective on guns has been shaped by him just as much. Although, perhaps not in the precise way intended. We are all aware of the tragedy in Dallas where law enforcement officers were targeted and killed (which is no more or less tragic than when anyone else is shot and killed; murder is always a tragedy). I have known of this danger my entire life. My father is a retired California Highway Patrol officer, and growing up I was keenly aware that my dad might never come home from his job, like many of his friends never did. Every day, I feared that he would be shot and killed.

My perspective is also framed by the mass shooting that occurred at my alma mater, the University of California, Santa Barbara, one year after my graduation. The shooting took place on May 23, 2014. My grandfather died one month later on June 23, 2014.

There I stood at the funeral of a man I loved who loved guns with the loss of innocent lives, in part because of guns, fresh in my mind. I could remember my roommate, also a UCSB alum, telling me that a shooting was happening in Isla Vista. I could still taste the fear with which I frantically texted all of my friends still at school to see if everyone was safe. And still I felt the grief of knowing six beautiful lives had been extinguished well before their time.

I thought about finding my NRA card and burning it for the world to see. But, truthfully, I have no idea where that damn card is, and I was too sad to do much searching. With every subsequent mass shooting and with every subsequent deplorable justification by the NRA, I have thought about finding and burning my card. I have thought about figuring out how to rescind my membership to the NRA. Yet, I have thought about my grandfather and my father each time, as well.

I am at peace with the fact that he wanted me to be an NRA member, and yet, while he lived, my grandfather also accepted that I did not feel the same way that he did about life and politics. He loved me, and that was all that mattered to a young boy who searched for love from his male role models, as all young boys do. And to this day, it matters to that little boy inside of me still. I cannot bring myself to wash away his legacy, my father’s legacy, our legacy, but I can come to grips with it.

I can admit that guns are mechanisms of death. I believe that guns should be more tightly regulated, much more tightly; which is not saying much given the many grey margins in the industry. It doesn’t make any sense to deny their purpose or their deadly capabilities. I aspire for a better world, but I try to understand the world in which we live currently. Guns are not going anywhere anytime soon. People like my grandfather exist still. However, people like myself exist too. People who are in conflict with themselves and everything that has led to their existence in this crazy, beautiful world.

Most likely, this article will not achieve any noticeable difference in the tone or direction of our national debate. But to those whom gun ownership is alien, I hope that it shows how complex it is for many of us and that people who own guns aren’t all zealots. To those whom gun ownership is practically a birthright, I hope that it encourages them to voice their own vulnerabilities, to show the world that your viewpoint doesn’t come from hate but of love for your own family and legacy.

Part of my grandfather’s legacy involves guns. Part of my father’s legacy involves guns. My sincerest hope is that my legacy will, in part, involve highlighting the humanity of each side so that we can make progress towards the better world we all want. A world where parents don’t have to bury their children from any form of brutality: gun violence or road rage, murder or suicide. A world where we can see that love is a part of every legacy, no matter what that legacy may be.