[For the record, I was not raised around firearms.]
The reason starts with why I have guns.
In Peru while serving a religious mission, I and a few other missionaries were robbed at gunpoint by five men. I had been released from the mission and was heading home, so the men focused on me, because, well, I had travel money, passport, etc. When I finally got my bearings, they had lined up and just looked at us on our knees, our hands up. We were in a home of a member of our faith. I yelled at the five to leave: “Ustedes han hizo su maldad. Vayan!” They wouldn’t look at me. Was I brave? I believe I know what you’re thinking.
I was sighted and shot at while hunting. (BTW, they were “warning shots.”) I was sighted in at an open range.
I got my first CCL in Boise, ID. The cops – mind, I love cops, just some are… – there were a little over the top. It was said that even if you have a firearm in the car seat next to you in plain sight, they would that it was concealed, because they could see the other side. They did NOT like the CCL laws. I liked shooting at the range, and I didn’t want to deal with such nonsense. No, I didn’t carry a piece on me; it was merely for potential pullovers.
In Utah, I my CCL in 2014, I felt that I needed to expand the skills I was learning. It took a lot of soul -searching. Years. Wholly unsupportive family (father and sibs). I felt that I needed to be the protector for my family. I have an amazing wife and likewise impressive children. I began carrying. Without telling Susan. Stupid. So, we had a “chat.” She supported me. Months later, I asked each of my kids how they felt about my carrying, almost unanimous: “I feel safer.”