Shooting Range

The other day Phil took me shooting at the range. Well. Actually, I didn't initially want to go. At all. We bargained: I'd come along to the range with him- "just to watch"- in exchange for him making up a story to tell me that was at least 5 minutes long. I love being told stories. It's like playing pretend or daydreaming without all the exhausting planning.

So we went to the range. I was crabby. And then of course at one point he offers to let me shoot his pistol. (Men are so tricky.) But oddly enough, for the first time I really WANTED to shoot. Don't get me wrong. I love the idea of being able to shoot. I really like the idea of going shooting. But the reality is I grew up with absolutely no experience with weapons. ZERO. And gleaned about as much from movies and what not. It's not something I ever really thought about until I fell in love with someone who was in the Army. I like the idea of being able to defend myself. I appreciate the usefulness of weapons in that respect. But the fact of the matter is guns have always been to me a scary hunk of metal that can kill people. Very scary. Sure I've shot before a few times with Phil and I WANT to learn to be comfortable enough with a gun in order to be competent with it... but it always seems that I don't really want to go shooting when the occasion arises. But I guess after a year of living in the same place as Phil and him having guns at his apartment and watching him fiddle with them and clean them and having explained how they operate and how they are to be handled DOZENS of times it finally sunk in enough that I don't panic as much when I actually have one in my hands.

It probably sounds silly enough to anyone reading this that is familiar with guns (thinking of you in particular, Jack), but my past experiences at the range have consisted of me trying to stuff down panic and not really understanding how to clear the weapon and that I shouldn't put it down until I clear it and how to do that and being weirded out by my clumsiness with them and how much- to me-, handling them seems to be much more a matter of force than finesse. That's not really how I do things in my line of work. You don't FORCE a catheter in. You finesse it. Or people scream.

But at any rate, I was pleased because for the first time I actually felt like I knew what I was doing. It had finally sunk it how the pistol operates. I didn't forget the second I picked it up and need to look to Phil every 10 seconds. I remembered what to do and I did it. I was able to focus on actually shooting instead of dreading when I'd have to put it down and trying to remember what to do when that time came. I didn't have freaked out anticipation of every bang every time I squeezed the trigger. I was no longer scared that I'd drop a loaded weapon or do something stupid.

It was kind of a big deal for me. I felt in control. I need a LOT of work... but at least I was in control. It was really cool.

We should bargain more often.

Also, Phil even mentioned letting me keep his 45 caliber Springfield Armory 1911 pistol at my house for the first time. I feel so honored and Responsible. Maybe I'm a Hound after all.. hehe...