From:   "E.J. Totty", [EMAIL PROTECTED]

Tacoma News Tribune
06/04/2000

A mother sticks to her choice to keep a handgun handy

Stephanie Madison

There was a time when I believed having a gun in the same house where
children reside was not only unsafe but was bordering on recklessness.
Mothers shouldn't own guns.

A single mom, I was accustomed to being alone. I don't remember being
afraid. I left my windows open in the summer; I liked to breathe the
crisp night air. I won't say I was careless; saying that would assume
blame. A person should be able to leave a door or window open without
signaling an invasion. No, I wasn't careless.

I worked late. It was dark when I got home. I was carrying my
2-year-old, a diaper bag, a purse, my paycheck in my teeth. I stepped
into the darkness and heard what I thought was the answering machine
clicking. I stopped. It was too loud. Someone was in my house.

I dropped everything except my daughter. I drove to my mother's house
nearby and called the police. A stranger had been in the house but
nothing seemed to be missing. Probably just some kids, police assured
me. That night as I undressed for bed I pulled open my top drawer. It
didn't occur to me at first. I dug through the drawer almost
frantically. Missing were garter belts and stockings, teddies and
underwear. I was actually sort of scared.

The next day, at the urging of a girlfriend, I learned to shoot a gun.

I could feel the power of the handgun as I shot the silhouette target
in the neck and head. I remember holding the gun, knowing it had the
power to kill. I didn't like it.

My friend told me to take the gun ... just in case.

"No," I said, "I have kids." The argument lasted 30 minutes.

Finally, she took my hand gently, "It will be OK. Take the gun."

I don't know if it was her voice or her expression - but I took the
gun.

Three days later I awoke to a man crawling into my bedroom.

It was about 5 a.m. It was still dark. He bumped the door with his
shoulder and I remember my eyes opening wide as I struggled to focus.
I reached under my mattress grabbed the loaded gun, and sat straight
up. I did it instantly.

I jumped out of bed as the man rose to his feet and took a step toward
me. I pulled back the hammer.

He threw his arms into the air, "No! Don't shoot! My friend is in the
living room with your kid."

My hand was steady even as my mind raced around his words. He backed
up into the wall.

"Who are you?" I yelled.

"I'm, I'm," he stammered, "I'm friends with Jeff."

Jeff, Jeff, Jeff, Jeff who? I don't know any Jeff. Do I know a Jeff? I
certainly didn't want to shoot someone I knew.

I stood before this man. my gun loaded and aimed directly at him. A
voice came from somewhere inside me, "Move! Now!"

I had never heard that voice before, nor have I heard it since. It was
loud and strong and deep.

I wanted to pull the trigger as I followed him down the hall, into the
living room, out the front door. I wanted to shoot him as he scurried
and slipped on the wet grass in the front yard.

He didn't touch me. He didn't rape me. He wasn't allowed to. I had a
gun. He didn't. I kept the power he had come to ruthlessly steal.

He is now serving a 106-year sentence for the subsequent rapes of four
other women. All single moms, all non-gun owners. Sometimes I think of
those women. When I do, I feel almost guilty I didn't pull the
trigger.

I am not a member of the NRA. I don't picket or protest. I listen
quietly as you tell me I shouldn't have a gun. I accept the flyers you
send home from school stating the dangers of handguns but omitting the
possible benefits.

Don't I care about the safety of my children? It is something you want
to know.

My kids know not to touch my gun. I know my kids and I trust they
never will.

I do not suggest every parent should own a gun. I can only speak for
myself, from my experience. Unless you have lived my experience,
please don't speak for me.

Socially acceptable or not, I will never be without a gun. I am a
responsible mother.

- - -
* Stephanie Madison lives in Eatonville.

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