Fun with guns

When I went home for Christmas break, I started noticing disturbing behavior around my house. Dad was prancing around singing Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is you,” but replacing the word “you” with “a 9 millimeter semi-automatic,” or sometimes “ammo.”\nA few days before Christmas, my mom, my friend and I were sitting in our living room drinking tea, nibbling at Christmas cookies and discussing sophisticated issues like the classy ladies that we are. Suddenly, dad walked into the house and shouted, as merrily as Santa Claus himself, “I bought myself a Christmas present! Ho, ho, ho!” He sat down with us and clumsily tore open a box as random parts fell out all around him. He then took out a shiny new pistol and passed it to my horrified ultra-liberal friend and told her to start practicing her aim on our cat.\nWhen I asked dad why this gun was suddenly necessary, he said it would be irresponsible of him to not be able to protect us during a break-in. (When I reminded him that we have enjoyed 21 crime-free years living in suburbia, he actually looked disappointed.) Also, he said he would like our family to begin rehearsing drills as soon as possible, which involve him standing on the top of our staircase and pointing his pistol at the door like James Bond while my mom calls 911 and I pretend to be dead in my bedroom.\nMy mom teaches at an elementary school and took my dad to a Christmas party with her co-workers. Dad, not well-versed in small talk, started bragging about his new pistol at the first opportunity.\n“That’s nice,” one startled but sweet gray-haired teacher said humoring him. “Are you going to go hunting?”\n“Oh, I would never kill animals,” Dad said, his face suddenly serious, the gentle elementary school teachers listening uncomfortably. “I want to kill bad guys.”\nDad has been going to shooting classes. Last time I was home he was as eager as a second-grader with an “A” paper when he showed me a prize his shooting instructor had given him as a reward for being the best shooter in the class. It was a plastic shot glass with the words “The Best Shot” inscribed on it. “Classy,” I said.\nDad isn’t the only one in my family with guns on his mind.\nLast December, I was in the kitchen when mom came downstairs to tell me about the Nebraska mall shooting. “I’ve decided what I would do if someone ever opened fire at a mall I’m at,” she said. She then proceeded to collapse onto the cold, tile floor and lie there motionless for about 30 seconds while I impatiently awaited an explanation for this charade. “See?” she said, finally peeking up. “They’d think I was already dead!”\nThe bad news is that dad has no intruders to shoot. The good news is that if dad gets impatient and decides to go on a shooting rampage, mom will be prepared.