A relative taught me to drive in a burgundy Lincoln Town Car in an empty Long Island parking lot in the 1980s. After emphasizing the need to practice driving in reverse, he also warned: “A car is a weapon. You can kill someone, or get killed, in an instant.” I am a safer driver (forwards and backwards) thanks to his warning.
This relative had purchased several handguns over the years. He moved to Virginia with his wife; years later, they relocated to New Jersey to be nearer their family. He came back north in a black Lincoln, toting a little black briefcase that never left his side. He never let us touch that bag.
Now he suffers from dementia and uses a wheelchair. A home health aide poking around in his closets discovered three weapons in a camera case, with a cache of bullets in their magazines. By the time of the firearms’ discovery, I had become responsible for his care and had power of attorney.
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