Those who know my gun story often focus on the disturbing encounter I had in my apartment complex with a neighbor and her boyfriend/dealer. Although that was a pivotal moment in my conversion, I did not rush out to Gander Mountain that weekend and buy a gun. I had never even touched a gun, so such a step was too far.

In fact, it would be another three months — and several conversations and a trip to the range and lots of reading — before I bought my first gun. And even once I decided to buy a gun, a defensive firearm was not my first choice (a Ruger Mark III .22 target pistol). Or my second choice (a Ruger Bearcat .22 revolver). Or my third choice (a CZ Redhead Deluxe 12g O/U shotgun).

I am thinking about this because of a Facebook memory that popped up today. It reminded…