I am a child of Television. It’s true. Most kids first words are “Mama!” or “Da-da!” Mine was “Popeye.” I am not making this up. I grew up on a steady diet not of ABCs and phonics, but of ABC, NBC, and CBS. I watched everything from Captain Kangaroo and Kukla, Fran and Ollie, to Eliot Ness and Matt Dillon. As such, I was intimately acquainted with guns. Six guns. Shotguns. Lever action carbines. Tommy guns. You name it, and I saw it on TV. And of course, growing up in the 1960s, guns were a regular part of my play. I had that Mattel belt buckle with a derringer in it, where if I pushed out my stomach, I could flip it out and fire it at the bad guys. I had a Mattel M-16 Marauder (a.k.a. a toy M-16/AR-15). I even had a toy Thompson submachine gun. So riddle me this, Batman: why did it take until I hit my mid-forties, before I bought my first handgun and learned how to shoot?