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From the March/April 2008 Issue
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Guns & Men
The Memsaab Speaks Helena Connor |
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| These boys think they’re so sly, but I read them like books; kindergarten books; three words to a page, with big bright pictures in primary colors. I’m talking about our Uncle John and Uncle G (the latter, some of you old-time Handgunner readers will remember as Commander Gilmore). Every time that Connor-man is gone too long, especially if we’re not that sure where he is or what he’s doing, they gravitate to me like 10-year olds who smell cookies baking. They may be twice my age, but when they come tip-toeing around like bashful buffalo, they’re just boys. Oh, I know their game. They arrive simultaneously from different states and then pretend it’s a coincidence, all frozen smiles and warm but stiff greetings, and they won’t mention Connor at all for at least 24 hours. Then the vigil begins. I can’t complain; I enjoy their company, and every hinge in the place gets oiled and a mountain of firewood split while they putter around pointedly not talking about Connor. I only get concerned if they wash and wax my truck. That means they know or suspect something I don’t, and it could mean trouble. This time they put on two coats of Carnauba wax. They think I’m worried about Connor — and I am; but in a way that’s been refined over the years. I call it the “Truck Tire Analogy.” Imagine a big truck tire, like the kind on 18-wheel semis. Now visualize one, untied and unsecured, bouncing off the rear trailer of a semi while it’s rolling down the highway. It could be due to a pothole in the road, a collision, or even an IED. The speeding truck is life; at least, the way Connor lives it. Connor? Well, he’s that big, resilient truck tire. The truck might keep rolling unfazed, or it might be destroyed, but that big tire takes its own course. Oh, it might be destroyed too, for sure. But most likely it will hit the road rolling, and come to rest in a ditch or out in a field, maybe smacked up against a tree or just losing speed and falling over in a pile of litter; a little dirty and banged up, but fine and fit for duty. It could be hit, but whatever hits it is probably going to suffer more damage than that tire will. It may be chewed up, gouged and scarred, but if any single thing survives, it will be that truck tire. That’s my man. Yep; I’m married to a loose truck tire. There's more from John Connor in the March/April issue... • The Touchstone .45 Order your copy of the March/April issue
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| This column is sponsored by: Kimber www.kimberamerica.com |
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