"I Am My Father's Daughter, and I Am Not Afraid of Anything."

A Concerned Father’s Bequest: Confidence and Competency

Yesterday I read the unhappy news of a murder in the 12600 block of Riverside Drive in Los Angeles, California, some 47 miles away from where I live. Almost 30 years ago I dated a woman who lived in the Valley Village neighborhood almost right next to where this crime occurred, so I know the area. This news hit home hard.

Here are the facts as of now: Early in the morning of April 23, 2025 in the five-story Ashton Sherman Village Apartments, someone reportedly heard a fight in a neighboring unit and a man’s voice saying, “I am going to die. I am going to die.” They called the Los Angeles Police Department. The dispatcher put out the following emergency radio call to any available patrol officers:

“Van Nuys units, possible ADW [Assault With a Deadly Weapon] in [progress… caller hears two males fighting and wrestling, banging and yelling.”

When the police arrived and knocked on the door of the apartment, nobody answered. They heard nothing. So they left. Three days later the police were again called to perform a “welfare check” at that same location and they discovered 53-year old Menashe “Manny” Hidra’s dead body. He reportedly had a stab wound to the head. Here is a local news report:

Many residents of that apartment building were furious. They had complained about sketchy people in the area and worried for their safety; a homeless person was reportedly living on the roof of the building. They have surveillance footage of a suspect attempting to enter multiple apartments before the incident – and they could see he had some kind of metal stick or screwdriver in his back pocket. Investigations suggest the assailant may have entered a vacant neighboring unit via a rooftop skylight, then accessed Mr. Hidra’s top floor apartment by leaping between balconies. The assailant then allegedly attacked Mr. Hidra with the screwdriver and killed him. Evidence, including bloody handprints on the exterior wall and stairwell door handle, supports this theory. Here is the message the police left to the public about the case:

The owners of the building were reportedly nonchalant to the complaints of residents about safety. There were no security guards on scene. And the Los Angeles police are very “hands off” when it comes to crime in their areas, a reflection of the priorities of the local politicians. Extreme income inequality, permissive policing policies, sketchy homeless people, rampant open-air drug use/abuse, the floridly mentally ill, violence and fear – this is Los Angeles all too often, but it could be the subways of New York, the streets of San Francisco, the drug bazaars in Portland, or any such similar area in the country.

Might some real estate company gladly cash the rent checks of apartment dwellers and care not too much about the security of their residents? (“We are not the police.”) Might the local police be pretty much indifferent to the fears and complaints of residents? (“We can only do so much.”) The answer to both questions is obviously “yes.” Then Mr. Hidra is stabbed with a screwdriver by some sketchy dude who broke into his apartment in the middle of the night, and nobody should be much surprised. I suspect the alleged killer already has a history of arrests and is known to the “justice system.” The police don’t really protect people directly, no. They rarely catch violent criminals in flagrante delicto. The police mostly show up after the violence and take a report over the dead body. Maybe there will be an arrest, maybe not. Maybe you will get “justice,” maybe not. It won’t make much difference to the victim, at any rate.

So this incident reminds me of the fact that in this violent world, all too often, nobody is coming to save you. If it comes to it, when you encounter a predator, you have to save yourself.

And it reminds me of another lesson I will try to give my daughters, this one relatively late in life – a “bequest from a concerned father,” I will call it.

Here it is:

Dear Daughter X/Y,

Your mother and I came together to create you. We fed you and changed your diapers. We helped teach you how to walk and talk. I taught you how to read and write: I read you to sleep every night for the first seven years of life. Later I read to you all the core literature at your high school before you even started there. I taught you how to hit a topspin forehand and coached your tennis and soccer teams. I drove you to school and took you home afterwards almost everyday until you started college.

Among all those things and others, I also taught you the rules of gun safety and showed you how to shoot a gun correctly. When you were little I purchased a next-to-no-recoil .22 Ruger “Buck Mark” handgun for the sole purpose of teaching marksmanship to my daughters while growing up; here you are as a beginning shooter at 11-year old at the shooting range putting holes in zombies on a paper target:

– I was standing right behind giving instruction and encouraging you (daughter #2). And below is you almost five years later at the same shooting range aiming at another zombie on a paper target; you had by then graduated to shooting the more “adult” 9mm cartridge. Here you are:

You were strong enough to handle the recoil of 9mm by then, and you are strong enough now (daughter #2). Yes, beloved daughter, you know your way around a firearm. I taught you; you learned. That knowledge will not leave you.

But now that you are just about grown up, I fear we did not do enough shooting. I could have found the time; I could have done more. But here we are. You know the basics. You are not going to shoot yourself in the foot like some idiot who has watched too much lazy gunplay in the movies and imitates it in real life. You know enough to move forward later as an independent adult. Hopefully I can play some role in that. Maybe you can do it yourself.

As you go off to college, you move away from my immediate protection. You can do as you wish and I will be none the wiser; you will have a freedom hitherto unknown. You want this, and I want it for you, too. Your mother and I have tried our best to raise you to be your own woman. We have given you increasing amounts of freedom as you grew older. We want to make ourselves unnecessary as authority figures; we want you to be able to run your own affairs, so we won’t have to. It has gone well. You are like 18-years going on 24. You start at UCLA in the fall as a college freshman. I am impressed. I am so proud. I brag about you to my friends.

But the world is often a cruel place, especially to young women, more so to beautiful ones. I have seen shocking instances of brutality towards women, especially those who have weak families and little or no social support. There is a small but dangerous percentage of men who can smell out victims a mile away, and they swoop in and take advantage. When you were growing up such a predator would not think you an easy target, as often you were with me – or they knew who I was. You were under your father’s protection – directly when you were with me, indirectly otherwise, knowing I was never far away. This, combined with your own common sense, could protect you from most threats. That was your childhood.

But I am fearful as you move away from the home your mother and I have made into the new one you will make for yourself. It is not so much your upcoming time at UCLA. Dogmatic campus feminists will complain that universities are full of sexual predators in a “rape culture” of young men assaulting coeds. I think that is 99% nonsense. You will live among intelligent and motivated students in university dorms and libraries, and I trust you to make smart decisions at college parties and other social functions. We have talked about that. If the university provides a space where a small minority of the students are confrontational and obstreperous (ie. “activists”), most are not dangerous. They are merely annoying.

It will be different when you are 24 or 27-years old. Away from the support available on campus, you will probably live as a young woman in an apartment by yourself. I am sure you will be happy to exit the protective womb of college life into the wider adult world of work, but there will be fewer people looking after you. I worry about you acquiring a stalker – some obsessed co-worker or ex-boyfriend or something. You will always be my beloved daughter, and my blessing and concern travels with you wherever you are. But threats might arise.

An example: The sister of a friend of mine married a young man after college and moved from California to Utah to start a life with him. He turned out to be an alcoholic who got violent with her in marital disputes. Late one evening she made a panicked phone call home. That next morning my friend and his dad rented a giant van and drove ten hours to Utah, moved her and her stuff out, and took her back to California. (This happened over 40 years ago.) That young lady had a brother and father who showed up to remove her from a dangerous situation. Other women don’t.

So it will be with me for you, beautiful daughter. If you are in trouble, call the police. Then call me. It does not matter if it is a long drive or plane ride away. I will be there just as soon as I can. You are not alone – or at least, you won’t be for long. My protection goes with you. Always know this. Half of remaining safe is recognizing the esteem, love, and care your father has for you; that should help you to recognize that you deserve and demand respectful behavior, and so you should insist on nothing less. You are nobody’s doormat.

Too many women without strong father figures (ie. those with “daddy issues”) look to make up for it in exactly the wrong places, in my experience. They encounter great harm in doing so. I have seen young women with absentee fathers sniffing around for male attention where they should not and then get taken advantage of, and I am determined that my daughters should not be that girl. It is a trap. Great damage can be done. In contrast, many of the women who go on to have ambitious and distinguished adult lives have had particularly strong and supportive relationships with their fathers growing up. They gain confidence and competency therein. They learn to take care of themselves. The strength of their fathers (in addition to that of the mother) seems to travel with them. Beloved daughter, I want you to be like this. As you explained in that drawing you made for me on my birthday, “I am my father’s daughter, and I am not afraid of anything.” Those are brave words! It is a good sentiment but not the best. Instead I urge you to be afraid of what is worth being afraid of in the world, to the proper degree, but also to be confident in your ability to take care of yourself. That might be easier said than done. It calls for discerning judgment, nuanced thinking, valuating risk, and quiet courage.

By all means, use the law. The police can protect you – that is their job. Outsource your violence, if you can. The police are trained, equipped, and authorized to protect you from predators. Get a court order, if necessary, to order someone persistent and dangerous to stay away from you. But a piece of paper with a judge’s signature cannot ultimately protect you – there are plenty of examples of predators murdering victims who hold a restraining order in their hand. (“But the judge says you can’t be doing this!”) As the saying goes, when seconds count the police are minutes away. And if you don’t have a chance to alert the police, they aren’t coming to the rescue anyway. The cops will find your body days later when they finally perform a “welfare check” after you fail to show up for work or answer your phone.

All too often, nobody is coming to save you, beautiful daughter. Not the police. Not me. Not anybody else. You have to rely on yourself. This is reality.

It would be good to have a protective order from a judge in one hand. In the other hand, you want to have a gun. Save your own life, in this gravest extreme. Take the life of your attacker, to save your own, if you have to. Don’t hesitate. Pull the trigger.

I have tried to teach you how to focus under extreme pressure. In high stakes tennis matches and in classroom exams, we have talked about quieting the mind and allowing the brain and body to do what it knows how to do. It comes down to training and frames of mind: a body cannot go where the mind has never gone. Some were born better at it than others, but “grace under pressure” is mostly a learned capability. You have experience in this –

So here is what you should do: If you find yourself in a deadly confrontation, settle down into yourself and take action. Do not panic; do not freeze up. That cheesy quote from the Dune novels saga we discussed – “fear is the mind-killer” – is no less true for being cheesy. Focus your attention narrowly. Realize what is happening. Do what is needed. We Geibs have always known what to do. It will be no different with you.

Here is how it should go down: Hold the gun with both hands, high up on the grip. Get your legs solidly beneath you and extend your arms into an isosceles triangle position just like I taught you. Don’t pull the trigger so much as squeeze the entire gun with both hands, firing a round without disturbing the sight picture. Your eyes should be on the target, not only on the iron sights. Hold the gun firmly through the recoil, trying to keep the sights on target, and be ready to fire again. All the things we have gone over together at the firing range. Fire until the threat is ended.

In a crisis situation you will probably only get a portion of this right. But even 35% of the correct technique should suffice. Don’t worry too much about aligning the sights. A violent conflict like this will almost surely happen very quickly and at close range. Get the gun up using a strong grip with both hands and fire at the threat to save your life.

When the threat is ended and you are safe, call the police. Put your firearm down somewhere safe and let the authorities secure the scene. Tell the police you were in fear of your life and then say nothing else. Call me. I will call a lawyer. You can explain what happened to the police at some later time with your lawyer present. Cops themselves don’t have to make a statement after officer-involved shootings until a day or two later when they have had time to reflect and have their union lawyer present. You should have the same courtesy. Say as little as possible to the police immediately after the shooting. The police are not the enemy, but they are also not your friends. The veteran lawyer you pay good money to is indeed your friend in such an instance. If you cannot afford a lawyer, I will pay for one. I might even pay for it anyway. I’m your father, after all.

[unique instructions for older daughter]

A few words about the firearm I am bequeathing you. It is a Smith & Wesson Shield. This is the “1.0 version” and is a relatively older gun. It does not have the capacity and red-dot-ready availability the new “cool kid” guns have. But it will serve you fine. You do not live in Mogadishu; you are not on the SWAT team: your needs are modest. This S&W Shield 9mm will be more than enough. You can trust it.

A few details therein: This firearm has a smaller grip which serves the smaller hands of women well, and the recoil from the 9mm round, even with +P Speer Gold Dot 115 grain jacketed hollow point rounds, is manageable. The stock trigger on the Shield was gritty, like there was sand in it. I was unhappy with it, and the trigger is super important in a gun. So I put a custom Apex trigger in this weapon which is MUCH better. It has a smoother pull and the break is crisper. (I am a total trigger snob.) I replaced the horrible stock iron sights with Tritium ones which glow in the dark, but you should replace these every couple of years since the Tritium will fade over time. I put a special extended magazine release to make it easier to release in combat. The color is blue, and the M&P logo on the slide is gold; the total effect is to give the weapon the UCLA colors, a touch I think both of us will appreciate. 👍

[unique instructions for younger daughter]

A few words about the firearm I am bequeathing you. It is a stainless steel Springfield Armory XD Subcompact 9 mm. This is an American civilian version of the Croatian army service weapon from the wars fought there in the 1990s, and it was a very current gun on the market circa 2009 (when I bought it) but today less so. It does not have the capacity and red-dot-ready availability the new “cool kid” guns have. It is a simple design and it is far from a handsome firearm: it is utilitarian. The XD is basically a polymer semi auto, just like the Glock handgun series. But it is dependable and will serve you fine. You do not live in Mogadishu; you are not on the SWAT team: your needs are modest. This XD Subcompact 9mm will be more than enough. You can trust it.

A few details here: This firearm is a bit large in the grip and heavy for its purpose. One could say it is “over designed” – a bit of a tank. But after years of Thai boxing and club soccer you are stronger than almost all other women and at 5’ 9” can handle this firearm just fine. And since it is a bit on the heavy side, this gun is an absolute pleasure to shoot; since it is heavier, the recoil is minimal. Even with +P Speer Gold Dot 124 grain jacketed hollow point “hot” rounds, it is easy to keep on target while firing continuously. The stock trigger on this gun was horrible: it was a loooong and squishy trigger pull until finally the round would break. That would not do, no no. So I had the gun shipped to a special gunsmith in South Dakota who installed a PDP Combat Carry Trigger job which breaks at around 5 pounds. Without this trigger, the XD Subcompact is an inferior weapon, in my opinion; with that trigger, it is an excellent one. In addition to the trigger, I had them put glow in the dark Tritium sights on it, and a special extended magazine release. I also had them recrown the barrel, using a small drill to machine/refinish the muzzle to ensure the edge around the bore is perfectly smooth, concentric, and free of nicks or burrs. I bought this XD Subcompact stock and it was cheap and forgettable. But I customized it into something… wonderful. All this cost me a good chunk of money, but afterwards this gun was just the way I wanted it. I have shot tens of thousands of rounds through it and spent untold hours practicing with it. I am as familiar with it as the razor I use to shave or the car I drive everyday. You will love it, too.

This XD Subcompact 9mm was my favorite handgun for almost a decade. To bequeath it to you and have it leave me causes a bit of pain, beautiful daughter, I have to admit. But it makes me happy that this special gun, so tweaked to work effectively, might serve you well far into the future.

[end of bifurcation of essay about specific gun to each daughter; the rest of this letter is to both]

This weapon will serve you well. Take it to the range and practice occasionally, as marksmanship is a perishable skill. Know what you are doing. You should be able to manipulate and operate the weapon with automaticity. Every now and again you should take the gun out and dry-fire it. Dry-fire practice is the key to good shooting technique, in addition to solid instruction in the basics. And practicing at the range. Every now and again clean your handgun and afterwards apply just a bit of oil to the rails. More guns are injured by applying too much oil than too little. But don’t let the firearm become dry as a bone. The parts of the gun that pass over each other (the barrel, the slide) need to be coated by a light sheen of oil to function well.

I also give you a high-quality gun safe. This is almost as important as the firearm, in my opinion. I am giving you a heavy steel gun safe large enough for one gun. Keep it under your bed or close at hand. It has a “Simplex Lock” in it which will always work – period. No relying on fingerprint biometrics in your gun safe. No batteries which over time might go dead. The combination to this gun safe will always work. In a crisis, almost for sure, you will need the gun quickly. Press two buttons and this safe opens. Keep the gun locked and loaded and ready in the safe with an extra magazine and flashlight, too. Bolt the gun safe into the floor. It will keep thieves or whoever away from the firearm, while allowing you access to it. (Keeping a loaded gun unsecured on your bedside table is a dumb idea.) This gun safe is like a tank: solid steel and heavy duty. If professional criminals want to use a blowtorch or whatever to gain access to your gun… well, there is nothing you can do. They can have the gun. But you have done your due diligence to safely secure your firearm while keeping it good-to-go in an emergency. Use your good judgement. Be a responsible gun owner. Too many people aren’t.

This customized S&W Shield 9mm/Springfield XD Subcompact is a great gun, and the gun safe is top notch, also. Much thought went into it, as you can see. I plead with you to use these tools responsibly and wisely; you will be a fully-grown adult at this time (25 years old), and I will treat you as such. If I did not have faith in your maturity and self-regulation, I would not bequeath them to you. This is all 7-10 years yet into the future, but that will be here before you know it.

I have read some people nowadays complain that having a gun in their house puts them at risk of shooting themselves in an act of suicide. Hearing that makes me cringe; I recoil in contempt at the idea that you would be victimized by a mere lump of steel, that your own agency is so weak. The concept that you could not control yourself and would employ your own gun in self-slaughter goes against almost everything our family has ever stood for. The idea that I – or my father, or his father – would shoot ourselves with our own gun is farcical. The body I and your mother combined to give to you is your friend – a gift from God. The idea that you would shoot yourself is beneath mentioning. (If not, get rid of the gun.) Hypothetically, if you were to develop some horrible terminal disease like ALS and wanted euthanasia to die a few weeks earlier on your own terms rather than otherwise, I could understand that. But take drugs a doctor prescribes you. Die peacefully, like you would fall asleep. Don’t put a bullet in yourself. Don’t have your last moment be a deliberate act of violence against your own body. Firearms are for shooting paper targets or – God forbid – other people, if needed, in self-defense. Nothing else.

Because the gun is a tool. Like the tennis racquet you learned how to use so skillfully over many long years. Or the pepper spray I insist you carry in your purse. Or a fire extinguisher. Or a Phillips screwdriver. Or a spare tire for your car. Better to have a gun and never have need for it, which will probably be the case, than to have sudden need for one and have nothing in your hand. A knife is not the same. A baseball bat is not as good. A gun. Here is the first rule of gunfighting: have a gun.

A quote which runs through my mind often is this one from Sir Francis Bacon: “He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune.” That was Bacon’s way of showing that once a man has a family he is never free from worrying about them. Even when you are an adult in your thirties and forties, I will worry about you. You are my daughter: I will always be there. Blood calls out to blood, my flesh and blood. This is a part of my patrimony to you, along with the tennis and the literature and the history and everything else: that you will not be a victim, or at least you will not be an easy one. Look the world in the face and demand that it give you the respect you earned and deserve. Confidence joined to competency, with generous doses of patience and humility, will take you far.

Whatever you do and wherever you go, beloved daughter, my blessing and strength travel with you. My love encompasses you, even if I were to die; my protection, in one way or another, is never absent. So walk forward bravely into the adult world, knowing exactly where you come from and who you are.

Love,

Your Doting Father

P.S. Replace the tennis terminology with martial arts ones and this letter is exactly the same to my younger daughter.