Growing up in a decidedly left-wing household, I was lectured on a regular basis about the dangers and evils of firearms and the horrible kinds of people who own them. This despite the fact that my father kept a .22 rifle hidden in the basement. Granted, a .22 does not pack the firepower of most other guns, but on rare occasions when he thought he could get away with it, my dad would take me out plinking with the admonition that I keep it on the sly, since my mother would have, shall we say, “registered her disapproval.” Very adamantly.
