Trey Garrison, you might know him from his blog or his work for D Magazine, and I had a play date over the weekend. Our Saturday together included a hotel, coffee, comic book talk, politicians and guns. Lots and lots of guns.

And while you can read our collective thoughts and watch the video about the big gun buyback in Dallas over the weekend over at Trey’s blog, I would like to take a few minutes to tell a part of the Story of Saturday from my perspective, that is, if you’ll indulge me. For I am nothing more than an astonishingly long-winded writer who saw an opportunity to do several things I’ve never done before, with someone I’ve never met before, and I want to tell you about it.

Late last week when I read that Trey Garrison needed someone to record his adventure, I sent an email asking if he still needed help. Much to my surprise he did and we planned for a coffee klatch at 8 a.m. Saturday morning.

By the time the sun began to rise on Saturday, I was a chain-smoking bundle of worry and nervous energy. I didn’t know if I had the confidence I’d need to shove a camera in someone’s face. I didn’t know if I’d make an ass out of myself, as I am wont to do. And I certainly didn’t know if I’d be able to hold my own around a writer far more experienced and succinct than I – let alone get along with the guy.

Saturday morning came far too soon.

I was nervous.

Trey was 12 minutes late.

The first question he asked me was, “Why did you want to do this?”

I told him that the experience sounded interesting in general but, on a personal level I was concerned that there may be some people showing up to the gun buyback that were being forced to choose between feeding or protecting their family and I didn’t like the notion of that happening anymore than I like the fact that – cue violins and Dorothea Lange photo montage – the more the working poor need something from their local, state or federal government, the more it seems their choices in general are limited. (That last bit probably grayed my father’s hair just a wee bit more.)

After we compared resumes and traded clever anecdotes about our dogs and our spouses, Trey and I both agreed over breakfast that we didn’t really have any expectations of who or what we’d find at Reunion Arena and, hand to God, didn’t even know how, exactly, to GET to Reunion Arena.

What unfolded was a day of winging it. And winging it proved to be worth it, for me anyway.

I don’t know if I saw any working poor forced to make the choice between feeding or protecting their family. I doubt I saw many criminals. I know I didn’t see any Uzis or Ak-47s. Hell, I didn’t even see that much politicking. But I did see elderly people. I saw little kids. I saw two men completely out of touch with everything but their own reality: Tom Leppert and the Uzi guy. I met articulate and well meaning, responsible gun owners. And I saw a young man, fitting every gangbanger stereotype I’ve ever heard, turn over a gun. A gun that I suspect would go a lot farther on bragging rights in certain circles than fifty bucks worth of groceries would in any circle.

I learned a lot, too.

Forgive any saccharine faux pas I may make in stating this, but not only did I learn some pretty valuable lessons on human nature, I learned that I should really stop patting myself on the back for being ‘open-minded’ when I can’t even give the city of Dallas, its residents and even its politicians the benefit of the doubt when they’re sincerely trying to do good**.

On Saturday I realized there might be something likeable, if not lovable, about Dallas after all. I fell in a little bit of love with Mr. Caraway and Mr. Davis (I’m still floored he remembered me from the SUP hearings) and a little bit in love with folks like Bryan the Gun Lover and Sonya the Community Warrior. And immediately I thought, “I can’t tell Trey that. Crap. Trey Garrison will think I’m a bleeding heart softie without a spine.”

But I guess something happened to old Gatlin Gun Garrison that Saturday, too.

We didn’t say a whole lot on the ride back to fetch Trey’s car from Buzz Brew. We talked about dogs and spouses again, grabbed a quick cup of coffee to warm up and, finally, I walked him to his car. As I lit a cigarette, Trey asked me a genuine question.

“Amanda, there’s a much bigger story here, isn’t there?”

“Yeah, Trey, there is.”

“We need more people like Sonya, don’t we?”

“Yeah Trey, we do…Hey, did you remember to get your gun out from under my seat?”

Patting his side he replied, “I’ve got it right here.”
 

  

** Dear Dallas,

I’ve been an asshole. I’m sorry. Tis true, after countless conversations with police, politicians, volunteers and Dallasites from every walk of life and ideology on Saturday, I was overwhelmed with a sense of pride and hope for you that I have never experienced. I’ve decided you have some redeeming qualities. Still not going to write you love letters anytime soon, though.

Warm regards,
Amanda