I am going to share a very personal story here; one that few people know. I attended the University of Arizona pursuing degrees in English and Spanish in 1986. I left dorm and sorority living for a private rental in 1989. I include these details hoping to break some stereotypes about who owns guns and who doesn’t. In the spring of 1989, I came home from a date to find my back door open and several electronic items stolen. I called the police and alerted my parents, who lived in Phoenix.
I grew up around guns. I lived on a farm in Wisconsin and my father was a hunter. My grandmother was the first female sheriff in the Midwest; my grandfather was a sheriff. My younger brother and I were taught gun safety at an early age. We were not even permitted to point toy guns at people or animals as my parents wished for us to understand, from our youth, that guns can kill.
When my parents came to visit, after the break-in, my father gave me a .38 Taurus snub-nose and said, “You know how to use it; and at least it will help me sleep at night.” I kept it loaded and within reach, just under the frame of my futon.
My rental home was in a quiet, homogeneous neighborhood; six red, brick houses circling a giant weeping willow. My neighbors were all graduate students and kept to themselves. One Saturday night, I awakened to a man lifting my nightgown over my thighs. The shades on the windows were not opaque, so I could see the man’s form—his torso, his arms and thighs.
My immediate response was to kick him in the chest, which I did, quite forcefully. So much so that he lost his balance. I immediately began groping for my gun. He came after me again, attempting to grab my legs. I successfully kicked him away. This time I was able to retrieve my gun and shout to him, “I have a gun. I will shoot!”
I won’t pretend I wasn’t terrified. I won’t deny that I didn’t know what I would do if he came after me again. I’d like to think I would have pulled the trigger. No. I’m fairly certain I would have shot. And I hope I would have struck him. But I didn’t have to. He turned and ran.
Shaking, absolutely shattered, I called the police. It was too soon to feel safe, to feel empowered. He may have still been out there. I did the smart thing, however, and told the police that I had a gun. This is imperative; police need to know if you have a gun.
To my knowledge, this would-be-rapist was never caught. I’ve questioned myself many times over the years. If I had shot and he had been neutralized, would he have been connected to other crimes against women? Was I complicit in further violence against women? Or would the powers that be have turned against me, the victim, as they so often do in crimes against women? Remember the Brock Turner case, anyone? I will never have answers to these nagging questions.
So here are some nagging questions for you. How are we teaching our wives, mothers and daughters to protect themselves? We know that violence against women is in no way never, ever, again never warranted, asked for or legitimate. So while we also consider situational awareness, how do we teach the women in our lives, and how do we, as women, protect our bodies, our children, our partners and our homes? Ponder that.
I didn’t shoot. Maybe I didn’t need to, but I’m grateful I had the option.
