After the two men knocked me in the river I treaded water, asking the one still standing there what they were going to do.

“My brother’s gone to the truck to get a gun and we’re going to kill you,” he said.

Somewhere in my fear I thought to myself: I picked a hell of a day to leave my shotgun at home.

As America continues to wrestle with questions over Florida’s stand-your-ground law and questions over gun violence in general, I often think of what happened to me that afternoon in April 1978 in Courtland when I was a junior in high school.

I had been getting ready to go fishing on the Nottoway River, leaving from the landing behind our Methodist church, less than a half-mile from my house. I kept my canoe chained at the landing. I stood near the boat, digging some fishing worms.

A young woman barely older than me was leaning on an old pickup truck parked at the landing. She asked me what I was doing. Digging worms, I said. She made some other small talk. I was just trying to get going with the fishing.

I finished up, put the worms in a plastic container and headed for my canoe.

That’s when I saw the two men.

They’d just pulled their boat up. They walked toward me, each lugging heavy oars across their shoulders. They were shirtless, older than me and taller than me. I knew most folks who used that landing but I’d never seen these guys before. One of them said, “You were talking to my girlfriend.”

“She just asked me about digging worms,” I said. “I’m just trying to go fishing.”

The two men weren’t buying it. One of them pushed his long hair out of his eyes. He looked like he’d ingested something that had taken him to a mean and lonely place.

We talked in circles for another minute or so, with both men accusing me of trying to pick up the girl and me denying it.

Then the strange-eyed one just raised his big oar behind him and swung it hard toward me. I’m not real coordinated but he wasn’t real sober, so I somehow had time to reflexively cover my face with my forearms and ease the blow.

It still stung the hell out of my arms and knocked me into the river.

Fortunately, it was a warm afternoon and the river wasn’t that cold. In fact, maybe it was too warm. But I didn’t even think about the water moccasins that had to be in that water with me.

The guy who told me his brother was going for the gun stood there tall on the river bank, just staring me down. I treaded water for a minute more, then just turned around and swam, in my clothes, for the other side, moving on adrenaline.

I heard the guy yelling at me. Our river is barely 60 feet wide at that point, so I quickly made it to the other side. I scrambled up a muddy bank and ducked into the brush. I listened from my hiding place. I could hear the men and the woman talking. Finally, several minutes later, I heard their truck start up and drive off. I peeked out of the brush, studying the landing on the other side of the river, making sure they really were gone.

I swam back across the river, got in my car and drove home. My mother called the sheriff.

They never caught the thugs from out of town. To this day, I wonder what would have happened if I’d had one of my shotguns with me when I met those guys. I usually took a gun with me for moccasins, especially that time of year when the snakes were “in the mate” and aggressive.

The gun I usually carried in the boat was a 12-gauge, pump-action Mossberg. I could hit snakes, squirrels and tin cans pretty good with it.

How would I have done in the heat of anger, against humans? Would they have grabbed the gun from me and turned it on me? Or would I have killed one or both of them and faced a long prison sentence?

I do know from that situation that adrenaline can enable you to do things, like swim faster than you ever thought possible. But I don’t think adrenaline helps your judgment. I know I was panicked, and certainly lacked the training of a law-enforcement officer or military person on how to respond with a gun to such a confrontation.

I believe in the Second Amendment and still own several long guns. Laws that allow civilians to use deadly force to defend their lives in extreme situations are just. But laws shouldn’t make it easier to use that force.

I’m glad I left my shotgun at home that day.

John Railey is a Southampton County native and editorial page editor for the Winston-Salem Journal. His email is jrailey@wsjournal.com.