From a friend who is in his 80s and has an interesting perspective…
Gun confiscation: A family history
My compound first name is Jean-Pierre, but I answer to “J-P” because most Americans cannot pronounce my name unless they speak French or have a head cold. In addition, rhyming with ‘ ”gene” pisses me off, inasmuch as I am a proud male. (Since my name means “John-Peter,” I remind myself daily of my sexual identity by going to the john and finding my ____).
We were living in Paris when Hitler invaded France on my third birthday, 10 May 1940. Early in 1941, two Schutzstaffel – SS officers knocked on our door, and, in perfect French, told my father, “Monsieur, you have a Belgian Thirifays 16-gauge double-barrel shotgun, serial number XXXYYY. Hand it over!” Thanks to the French government’s firearm ownership list, my father lost his favorite hunting shotgun.
At age 3 ½, I was already causing problems for my parents, who caught me in the balcony, spitting on German occupation soldiers, while shouting, “Sale Boche!” (“Dirty block-head” , from the high & tight haircuts they favored). Fortunately, Wehrmacht Soldaten (regular German troopers) were forgiving, but things got dangerous when my parents caught me pissing on the invaders’ helmets. We did not want to attract further SS attention. One could say that I was a precocious maverick….
In late 1941, we escaped by driving to Barcelona, evading a Ju-88 strafing the retreating French forces on the highway as we headed to Spain. My mother, my sister and I embarked on a passenger ship, “XXXXXXXXXX,” as we sought refuge in Argentina, while my father returned to Paris to clear out his office. He joined us in Buenos Aires several months later, and met my second sister, who had been born enroute.
In June of 1946, one month after my ninth birthday, Colonel Juan Domingo Perón staged a coup and took over as Argentina’s National-Socialist dictator. Sho’nuff – eventually, his secret service came calling, looking for firearms. Having been stung by confiscation in France, my father said, “Cuáles armas de fuego?” (“What firearms?) . He had not registered his 16-gauge shotgun or my single-barrel .410 bore break-top shotguns, so he and I joyfully hunted three varieties of partridge, the Argentine hare, and waterfowl from early in my childhood.
I am proud American citizen, to the political right of both John Wayne and Attila the Hun because I have experienced the penury of living under two Socialist régimes. I am a member of the NRA and AZCDL, and I remain active in opposing the likes of Schumer, Pelosi, Bloomberg, Sanders, Clinton, Biden, Obama, Kelly and the rest of the USA’s MarxiCrats (including treasonous RINOs) who wish to deprive me of my God-given right to defend myself against the dictatorial excesses of a Socialist dictatorship.
Will I fight for my country? Absolutely, and against all enemies, foreign and DOMESTIC. I derive inspiration from Winston Churchill’s 4 June 1940 speech to the House of Commons: “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender…”
JP became an American citizen, joined the Navy after college, and became a Naval Aviator. He’s now retired, but still active in training new shooters and he is worried about what is going on here/now with the current lockdowns/absurd rules/etc. he’s seen it all twice before.
