There's a Vietnames restaurant, a favorite of ours since we first came to Portland. You read the chalkboard above the counter, order Hum Bao, garlic lemongrass chicken, tea, take a number, find a table.
After we ordered, I walked back outside to visit a nearby antique shop. I'd taken a photo of this sign a year or two ago, it's been sitting on my desktop waiting to be put to use. I wanted to ask about it.
Was it a sign for the store or was it a vintage sign--looked like it was metal? Usually there are only women working there but today there was a man, probably the owner. When I told him my interest, he wanted to know if I was pro or anti gun control. Oh, "pro," I answered.
He smiled, "I have a lot of gold and silver in here. If anyone comes in and acts like he wants it, I have this." He pulled aside his shirt, showed his Colt revolver. Not what I was expecting.
Next he shared that everyone would be much, much safer if school teachers had guns. Acknowledging that this was his belief, I thanked him for the information, and returned to my Vietnamese dinner.
You know in The Wizard of Oz, Dorothy tells Toto, "We're not in Kansas anymore." That's how I felt: I'm in the West now. I never know when someone will be carrying a gun. Sure, in New York City, there's another guy minding his antique store, carrying a registered firearm, but he would never show it to me.
Call me another of the Moms Demanding Action on Gun Sense--with no idea at all what we are up against. Vintage sign, indeed.
