Until about a month or so ago, I had lived my whole life without ever firing a gun. (Unless you count a BB, which I’m guessing most of you would only count a nuisance.) Shooting a firearm has never been on my list of things to do, much as you weaponologists may find that unacceptable. Evidentially, it has always been on Jason’s list of things for me to do though. Fortunately for him, plans for my dad’s birthday celebration this year included a multigenerational shooting-range experience.
Several of my siblings and I decided that we’d rather do something with my dad for his birthday than give him something for his birthday. A few ideas were tossed around but, ultimately, we chose to take him to a shooting range. We had a mixed group of family members join us, including some nieces and nephews.
I’ll admit, I was a little daunted by the prospect of handling a deadly weapon; I prefer not to finger anything more lethal than a herring. So I started out with a wee gun with petite bullets, a little 22 that made a feeble sound when fired. Next, my hubby and brother convinced me to try a 9mm. I got fed up with its backtalk rather quickly. Yes, I am a weapons wimp, as if that wasn’t already apparent. After my brief 9mm lashing, I was content sticking with the 22 but, again, the males intervened. They talked me into taking some rounds with an AR-15. This AR-15 did not look friendly. It was a large gun and, as I already stated, I am a wimp. However, I gave it a crack and discovered that it was easier to handle than the 9mm. It fit comfortably against my shoulder and didn’t have too much recoil. I guess size really doesn’t matter.
Although I am in no danger of becoming a gun enthusiast, I had a good time with my family at the range. And I no longer think that guns are terrifying just incredibly loud, difficult to handle, and potentially fatal.