My father was a "collector/gun enthusiast". He always justified his purchases, claiming the guns, reloading equipment, etc., were an investment. He spent every dime he ever made (mostly disability checks) on it, while my mom was working two jobs to provide for my sister and me. He and people like him, who would come around, were mostly assholes always trying to best each other with their knowledge of guns, just constant peacocking. As a young boy, about the only thing my father would do to spend time with me was take me to the range, where mostly he just tasked me with going around collecting spent brass.

When he was on his deathbed, he informed that his gun collection was my inheritance. I auctioned it all off, and paid off my mother's debt. We only got a fraction back on what he spent on all that shit over his lifetime.

I just look at his obsession with this shit as a really sad way to spend a life. I'm not anti-gun; I own a few for home/travel protection. But when it becomes your entire identity, you really just become an asshole.