I’ve shared before that I was raised in a home with loaded guns. My dad started teaching me to shoot at age 4 and I shot my first rabbit at age 5. I still believe that was the best tasting rabbit I ever ate.

But our home was a safe home. The loaded guns were not in plain sight but we kids knew where they were and how easily accessed they would be if needed for an emergency. We were also taught to respect guns, to never play with real guns and never ever, ever, touch any of the real guns without permission unless it was an emergency.

Needless to say, I’ve been a pro-gun rights person my entire life. I knew from my teen years that if anyone tried to confiscate my guns, they would have to pry them from my dead hands, because I was and still am willing to die for the right to own and keep a gun in my house for protection.

I believe so strongly in gun rights that when I planned my own suicide at age 19, I planned to use my car and not a gun, because I didn’t want my death to be used to promote any form of gun control. Fortunately, God intervened at the right time and spared my life.

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