Sybil-lings

As I waited at the Sheriff’s Office for the processing of my Concealed Carry Firearms permit at the Fayette County Courthouse Uniontown, Pennsylvania, I was reminded of some things about my mother Sybil Miner Beck. Several other people were already waiting for the criminal record clearance in obtaining a permit as well. Although strangers, I was loquacious as I sometimes get when I am bored or anxious and struck up conversations with several of them. One thing I said loudly to all was, “If my mother could carry, I can too.”

Our family home was located along the busy highway of Route 711 between the two small towns of Normalville and Indian Head. It wasn’t quite remote or isolated, but it was in a rustic area. My mom was Justice of the Peace, did taxes, and kept accounting books for several local corporations, so she often had people stopping at her office. Back then traveling salesmen and hucksters were the norm and our home was a frequent target.

Fort protection, my brother Ken kept a Doberman Pincer named Sam that watched over her. Sam had a special bond with our mom. If he wasn’t napping, he was near her side. If he heard a strange voice, he stood between the perceived threat and Mom. My brother still didn’t think that was enough protection and bought a small pearl handled pistol for her. I don’t recall her ever having to use it, but it was there if she needed it.

When I shared that my mother carried a pistol, it brought quite a few smiles, even from the one sheriff who was processing the request for my permit.

While I was there, I made room for a woman to sit at a table and fill out her request. She was a slender young woman named China. She is the second person I’ve met who carried that name. She pronounced her name like the country while the other lady who was from Puerto Rico pronounced her name like Cheena.

After nearly a two hour wait, I left with my permit and a smile on my face. I was so hungry when I left that I decided to stop at a Burger King restaurant, my least favorite eatery, hoping to snag a chicken sandwich and fries, anything but the Whopper. Its flame broiling doesn’t agree with me and I taste it for days afterward. I stepped inside and everything was cordoned off. There was no inside dining. I tipped my hat, and said, “You just lost a customer.” I turned and left. I had no plans to eat in the parking lot like a pigeon.  It was just another strike against Burger King.