Last edited Wed Jul 4, 2018, 09:17 AM - Edit history (1)
He was extremely paranoid about being put away in a home. Not that I or my siblings ever threatened him or discussed the topic. He knew he was messing up with car accidents, starting a fire in our family house, letting his dog shit all over the house, etc. He had enough brain to think "What if . . . . "
My sister tipped me that she found a print-out of local gun ranges in his study. And Dad had been talking with some interest about being able to shoot again. (He learned in military training in 1945.)
That was enough for me. When he went shopping, I tore his room apart. Sock drawer, shoe boxes, in between the mattress and box spring. Closets. Bookshelves. Drawers. Kitchen. Everywhere. But no pistol or whatever.
I really figured he bought a gun when he drove from NJ to FL for his annual snowbird migration. Maybe two guns.
Anyway, I figured the firing range was a ruse. Dad had an explosive personality disorder and you never knew what would set him off and how bad it would be. I certainly didn't want him waving a gun at me if a new outrage got him going, y'know?
My father could have killed me without meaning to if he waved a loaded gun with it cocked. Or worse, he meant to.
Dad would have expected to have gotten away with this "accident". Make the judge think such a sweet old man couldn't have meant to have killed his adult child . . . .
Dad was a handful in many ways, but I certainly didn't want to count my blessings every time I left his house.
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