LETTERS FROM HOME: HAVING A WILD AND CRAZY TIME IN 'THE TWILIGHT ZONE'

April 1, 1999

"When I hold you in my arms,

And I feel my finger on your trigger.

I know no one can do me no harm because:

Happiness is a warm gun."

-- Lennon and McCartney

Dear Julie,

My sister and her family left for Cincinnati today after a wee stay. The nieces shopped and helped their grandmother and DC bake pies and cookies, an activity I sadly suspect will cease the day they become teen-agers.

On the basis of twice-a-year visits, I seem to know them less and less. I do know Carly is a bit like me, living inside her head, writing people letters and reading. Kim is more athletic, seemingly fearless, but also plays the piano. They are in the netherworld beyond dolls and before boys.

Kyle and I spent the week on the golf course and at the driving range. One day was foggy and chilly, the balls rising and falling in the mists as they must in Scotland. I yearn to teach Kyle what I know of golf, not so much the techniques as the requirements it places upon your character. To be a boon companion and not a sour puss, to know and play by the rules, to learn from your mistakes and be improved by them. I want him to know its history.

You don't have to know who Bobby Jones or Old Tom Morris were to play golf, but for me their stories are essential to appreciating the game. Their lives made shrines of St. Andrews and Augusta. The history makes what Tiger Woods and David Duvall do important.

History keeps current events from making you crazy.

Missourians are a few days away from deciding whether to allow people to carry a concealed weapon. The National Rifle Association is buying lots of advertising. Charlton Heston flew into Kansas City and St. Louis to try to convince us that the more guns we have the safer we'll be.

With one exception, at the Blackwell household we don't think so. My sister and her husband were shaking their heads at this notions like they'd dropped into a Wild West episode of "The Twilight Zone."

My dad had to hold up the pro-concealed weapons side of the debate by himself. I wondered if in his 73 years he'd ever been in a situation in which he wished he'd been packing a pistol. He had, he said, without giving up the details. Would he have pulled the gun if he'd had it? He didn't know.

Would John Lennon's life have been spared? John Lennon was shot in the back by a frightened, demented fan.

My brother-in-law is concerned that if more handguns are walking around, the likelihood of children accidentally getting their hands on a gun also increases.

One of my worries is the backyard argument with a neighbor or barroom fight that turns deadly because it can.

Kyle, who's 14, wants to know if we'll be able to carry as many concealed weapons as we want.

I can only wonder what these children think of us adults, voting on whether or not we should have the right to hide weapons in our clothing while bombing Yugoslavia back to the peace table.

We are like their dog, Cayman, who barks at nothing and hides under the coffee table shivering. We think we need protection but we are scared of ourselves.

Love, Sam