A Day At The Range

Hope everyone had a lovely Father's Day!

I spent the morning amidst many a father and son at a local gun club.

Yes, I said gun club.

I know, sounds weird coming from me, the arts and crafts chick. However, I found out a few weeks ago that this year's cube farm retreat will include skeet shooting as an activity. Upon hearing this plan, I thought GREAT. Not only do I know little to nothing about shooting skeet or trap, but I have NEVER, in my 39 years on the planet, handled a firearm unless of course water guns count, which they don't. So yeah, guns? Not so much.

When I told my husband about this retreat activity he smiled and told me not to worry, he'd take care of it. I had no idea what that meant, but I trusted him. Days later he called me at work to let me know that we had an appointment at a local gun club with an instructor in a few weeks. A bit apprehensive, I agreed.

My husband was so looking forward to taking me shooting. He was the youngest child raised in a house full of brothers fathered by an imposing man who was a career Los Angeles County Sheriff Homicide Detective. My husband's entire family played team sports, ate copious amounts of beef and they all learned how to handle guns. You know, they're dudes. I, conversely, was raised by two over-educated pacifist hippies. When I was a child, my family avoided eating red meat or refined sugar, I was only allowed to watch one hour of network television per day and my Dad would conduct group therapy sessions with my friends in order to promote healthy teenage dialog. Yeah, our childhood experiences differ just a tad.

Gun-free childhood notwithstanding, I was going to have to learn to pull a trigger. Better to tackle this unknown with the trusted hubs than with the cube farm gang.

So, yesterday morning hubby and I headed north to the gun club to meet my instructor, Warren, who turned out to be a very patient and sweet man. He spent an inordinate amount of time teaching me about gun safety, proper form and how the game of trap is played. Upon completion of the fundamentals, Warren, asked me to put my earplugs in and pick up the shotgun from the rack. I apprehensively complied, extricated the weapon from the rack and walked cautiously to my first position. Warren dropped a round of ammo into my gun and I armed the weapon. He told me to say pull when I was ready, which I did just above a whisper. I pulled the trigger upon sight of the clay pigeon ejecting from the house, feeling the heel of the gun kick back into the crook of my shoulder as I fired. Okay, I missed, but I fired the weapon. No small feat for me!

Warren congratulated me and asked me if I was ready to try it again. I said yes and missed again. On my third attempt I hit the moving target! I was so excited! It was probably a fluke, but who cares! I blew that neon green clay pigeon to smithereens! Warren and my husband were cheering me on.

Pull!

I hit another pigeon! And I pretty much continued to hit three to five targets in a row before missing one in between!

Warren looked at me and told me I was doing fantastic and the hubs was giving me a standing ovation from his observation bench! What an awesome feeling! Here I was at a freakin' gun club, the only chick for miles, hitting those clay pigeons one after the other like I'd been practicing my whole life, while the groups of dudes stationed on either side of us were hitting targets every now and again. How great is that???

Needless to say, I will be taking more lessons. My goal is to outshoot all the dudes at the retreat. I mean, they're scared of me now and I'm just your average crocheter/knitter. Just wait until they see me with a shotgun!

Moi? Competitive? Nah!