My dad was a gun enthusiast. I am certain it had something to do with being a Marine.
When he was 16, my father announced to my grandparents that he wanted to join the Marines. More specifically, he wanted to quit high school and join the Marines. Originally, my father wanted to do this legitimately, preferring to get his parent's permission to make his wishes real. My grandfather refused to "sign-off" on the plan. He was a WWII vet, was overseas for most of it, and I would guess did not want his son to experience anything he did.
My grandfather wasn't much of a talker. He never offered tidbits about his time in the Army much. The only thing I know is that he secured an authentic Samurai sword during this time. How he got it, I have no idea. When we were kids, he used to take the sword down from the attic and let us hold it. We had to be very careful with it; his preference being holding it together, his hands over ours. Those times may have been the closest, physically, I ever got with my grandfather. The sword found its way to my father's house after my grandfather died, and then it sat upon my Armoire for about six weeks after my dad died. The rightful owner of it today is my aunt, the last surviving child of Albino and Leona Fosco. My grandmother is still alive--she'll be 90 in September--but she has no interest in the item. I don't think she did back then, either. I've never asked. My dad used to call my grandmother every Sunday at 7pm. I've been doing that for almost two years. Possessions are not the only thing that gets passed from generation to generation. Maybe the sword is something we can talk about this Sunday.
When my grandfather refused to honor my father's request to legally authorize his enlistment into the Marines, my father did the next best thing, in his eyes. He quit school, altered his birth certificate to make him two years older, and joined.
He often said that on the first day of Basic Training, when the Drill Sergeant decked the biggest guy on the line, knocking him out cold with a single punch, he thought he made a mistake. My father was much like his. He didn't speak about the time he spent in the service. Somehow he survived his time there, and when he did speak about it, he spoke of it fondly, admitting that it was some of the best years of his life.
His only regret was living the rest of his life carrying the lie of a teenager.
My father learned to love guns when he was a Marine. He learned to love God, his country, and the Core. He learned to respect and be ready to die for the Constitution. His favorite amendment was the 2nd which protects a right to keep and bear arms. He was a Lifetime Member of the NRA, he was a frequent contributor to the Republican Party, and to a wide variety of causes that supported his beliefs. I should know, I still get all of the mail he used to get. Gun magazines, solicitations for donations, pictures of George Bush and of John McCain. I've tried to make it all stop, but it never does. I think my father probably laughs every time I check the mail. Funny man.
Growing up, my father always kept a gun around. He would carry a handgun around in a brown paper lunch bag. He kept it in the glove compartment when we went out in the car, he kept it on the coffee table when we were watching TV, sometimes he slept with it under his pillow. He was never afraid that his three boys would touch the loaded weapon. He was sure that we were more afraid of him than we were of the gun. That was true.
In 1999, my father was prepared for Y2K. He stocked up on bullets for the many weapons he had. In his gun safe were four handguns, a rifle, a shotgun, and a semi-automatic something or another (I have no idea what it was called). In his spare closet he had cases of bottled water (potable and non-), batteries, flashlights, solar powered radios, hand warmers, glow sticks, MRE's (Meals Ready to Eat), blankets, tools, candles, matches, instructions. He was ready.
As it got closer to December 31, 1999, he would always ask if I had a full tank of gas in my car, if I had cash, if I was prepared. He tried to insist that Cyndi and I come and stay with him, just in case. Cyndi was pregnant with Frederic then. We opted to remain in the city and go to a party at Dugan's on Clark.
The world didn't end that night, but I can't say that I wasn't a little bit apprehensive that something bad wouldn't happen. My dad was always prepared. Even when he died, and many of the things he packed away for Y2K were left for my brothers and I to dispose of, he left me explicit instructions on how to handle his affairs. I followed them to the letter. I think he'd be happy about that.
Earlier today, my friend Mike and I were talking about the economy. I've been friends with Mike for almost 20 years. I was his RA at Loyola. He was one of two people I knew in college who already invested in the stock market. Over the years, I have asked his opinion on certain investments. He's always willing to offer his take on things and never sugar coats his thoughts.
One of the things Mike said was that if the economy gets real bad, people shouldn't be investing in the stock market, they should be buying a gun. My dad would have loved that. He would have laughed and agreed with the words Mike said.
I wonder if it has something to do with the name. My dad was Michael Joseph Fosco. My friend, is Michael Joseph, as well.
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