I did a drive by this morning for coffee. Fiona has a favorite coffee shop. I joke that it is her shrine to the coffee gods.
There was a law enforcement officer there. As I left with my precious nectar, I noticed he assessed me. I easily had him by 6 inches in height and maybe 70 pounds in weight. My disappointment was he dismissed me as a realistic threat. “You don’t think I could take you, son?” OK, realistically, probably not. I am not a fighter. I don’t even think I could hack it in the gym’s “Fight Club.”
Making it to my car, I realized something.
She fears for my safety. As a black-ish man, the media portrays me as under siege. My every encounter with the police, even a traffic stop, is a life-and-death scenario to her. But, then so is every encounter with Open Carry fanatic, gangbanger, or conservative trigger happy soccer mama bear mom.
I respect guns through a healthy sense of fear. But, I expect 99% of those I see are responsible enough to carry. Of course, there are plenty around concealed so I cannot see. I am not in general afraid of being shot. I have only had a gun pointed at me once (I was eight). So, it with tragic amusement that I smile over Fiona’s fear for my getting shot. Could it happen? Sure. I doubt it.
She is certainly welcome to hold this post against me should it prove wrong. 🙂