He grew up “on the wrong side of the train tracks” down in Columbus, Georgia, and his way of showing me love is to be tough on me. My granddad has always had a way of pushing me (to help me grow, he says), but he usually presents these challenges in the most sarcastic way. I asked my granddad if I could have the gun, and he responded with a challenge of sorts, which is very true to his nature. Relaxing on the tailgate after a good day’s work. High-end shotguns were unaffordable for almost any Black man. They were trapping game, mostly for two reasons: They likely couldn’t afford a gun, and trapping was the best way to guarantee that the meat could be sold in the best possible condition. In the early 20th century, most Black folks weren’t bird hunting for sport. Parker, it was nothing like the Parker shotguns that so many folks romanticize in upland bird hunting lore. For years it sat there, rusted, corroded, and unemployed.Įven though the gun came from a Mr. He wouldn’t get rid of it, but he never did anything with it either.

My grandfather acquired the gun after my great-grandmother passed away. And I would pester him about it: Where had it come from? He told me that it had belonged to his stepfather-Mr. When I was in high school, it sat in the corner of my granddaddy’s office. The gun has a tendency to choose corners, and has done so for the last century. 410 single-barrel shotgun that sits in my closet most of the year.

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