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Conceal and Carry Time: A Punk Harrasses My Wife

I am a non-violent guy unless you mess with someone I love or try to take away my right to defend myself. When it comes to restoring constitutional governance to this country, my method of choice is nullification and non-violent passive-aggressive resistance in the vein of Gandhi and Martin Luther King. Admittedly, there is probably a point where I would turn my back on these strategies and take a – shall we say – more direct approach, but if that ever happened the egregious attack on our liberties would have reached a point where many Americans would be – quite literally – up in arms.

However, when it comes to my family and protecting them forget about that passive-aggressive, diplomatic BS. Mess with a member of my family and you better hope I am not around, otherwise you’ll be unlucky enough to be on the business end of a Glock 45 or AR15 and, if your stupid enough, the recipient of some of the ammo in said weapons. Maybe its the Italian in me.

I live in Texas, and by now most of use have heard of the violence that is starting in the border towns and making its way north. Even in Oklahoma, where my brother is a Lieutenant in a police department of a major city, they are briefed on gang and drug violence. It is a growing epidemic, so severe that Sheriff Arvin West from Hudspeth County in Texas told ranchers in his county:

You farmers, I’m telling you right now, arm yourselves. As they say, the old story is it’s better to be tried by twelve than carried by six, and I don’t want to see six people carrying you.

Conceal and carry time for the wife – maybe a P245. A little heavy, but the woman can handle it and I prefer the 45 caliber over a 9mm any day. Just ask a coroner or ER doc and they will tell your a lot more people survive hits from .38’s and 9’s than .45’s or .357 magnums.

Which brings me to what happened to my wife. Before continuing, the woman I married is the type of person who is very passive in a car. If someone cuts her off, she does not honk the horn, flip them off, or pull up along side them to scream obscenities. She knows such actions can have consequences. I am a little more aggressive, but have learned to pull back after spending years with my wife in the passenger seat playing the role of Mrs. Bucket from the British comedy Keeping Up Appearances: “Mind the pediatricians dear!”. Guys, you know what I’m talking about (joking honey).

My wife is driving home from her job when she is cut off by a driver in an old foreign maroon colored car – the type of car so old you know it will never pass state inspection. Inside is a young Hispanic male. My wife slams on her brakes, pulls back, and when the driver does not speed up, she accelerates her vehicle to pass and then pulls back into the lane in front of the punk well enough ahead of him to not give the appearance of attempting to cut him off.

Next thing she knows, she of off on a high speed chase. First he pulls up next to her and starts screaming obscenities. He then attempts to cut her off. She pulls a maneuver and ends up back in front of him and turns onto our street. He follows her. She decides that, instead of pulling into our apartment and letting the little punk know where she lives, she would double back to a gas station where she knows there is usually a police vehicle.

When she gets there, no such luck. She pulls into a parking spot and stays in her vehicle. The punk drives up and opens his window, still screaming obscenities and daring her to get out of the car. Customers walking out of the store turn around and walk back in. He begins to flash obvious gang signs and using language typical of a street thug. At this time, my wife pulls out her phone and pretends she is using it to call the police. As we can’t dial 9-11 on our cell phones, she hopes the ruse will work and begins to act like she is providing a description of the vehicle. The SOB keeps cursing at her and daring her to get out of the car. Big tough man picking on a woman. God, I wish I were there. Oh, what fun I missed and what pain this bastard escaped.

My wife, having exhausted all her options, decides to head back towards our apartment as the gangster follows her. At the last second she makes a dangerous right turn at a high rate of speed and enters our apartment complex. The idiot following her is caught off guard and slams on his brakes too late and attempts to reverse his vehicle. As other cars are already heading his direction, he capitulates and drives on.

For the next three hours my wife is left shaking as she comes down off the adrenaline high. She feels helpless and went so far as to ask me if I would take some time off work the next day and allow her to follow me to where she works. I agreed.

I was actually disappointed he was not waiting. I don’t suffer from fear. Having had four heart attacks starting at age 38 (I am now 43) and 25 stents there is very little that scares me, and some little punk or group of punks or gang is not one of them. I was quite prepared to unload into the sorry bastard if he was stupid enough to return. Thankfully for him, he must have went home and did a few bong hits and fell asleep.

So that’s it. My wife is now very interested in getting a conceal and carry. I don’t blame her and support this decision 100%. We live near a range and I’ll take her shooting as often as she wants. I love to fire a good weapon that reminds me that I live in a country where I can protect myself, which leaves me with a final thought. I would also throw out my passive-aggressive non-violent approach to solving problems if anyone ever tried to take away my right to defend myself. If anyone – ANYONE – ever attempted to take away my firearms, one of us is going to bite the dust.

Politically incorrect? Too friggin’ bad.

Cross-posted at Wolves of Liberty

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