This time it was a much overdue outing with the next oldest in the family- Zach. The venue: gun range.
It seems many a hunter's son has gone through the same step-by-step epiphany: "We finally aquired sufficient 3-month food storage, now what if someone comes to kill us for it? Better get a gun. As soon as we can afford it. Oh, crap, Obama was elected. Better get a gun NOW."
You guessed it- Zach, Zach the hunter's son, went to the store and got him a gun.
When someone asks me what kind, I use my most casual I-have-a-clue voice, and give the scripted response, "A 9 mil." I'm thinking a 9 mil is considered kind of a wimpy gun, because whenever someone asks Zach, the name changes to "A-9-mil-so-my-wife-could-use-it-too."
He's used to guns called "oozie" and "mag" and uh- A-R 15 or something. I know- I went shooting with him a couple of times.
Picture it, Utah- August 2005. It's an interesting ride to the shooting "range"- a big wide open field where it's legal to dump as much lead into the scenery as you want. On the way, Zach, his brother, and his dad talk up their apparently very awesome arsenal. We finally arrive, and my sister and I exit the car, trying to shake off the testosterone- me hoping the bun in my 8-month-old oven hasn't suffered any harmful side-affects.
Three years into marriage, I'm still finding where I fit into my new family. One of my attempts at assimilation:
Zach would like it known that the weapon I am weilding here is fully-automatic. Happy, hon? Yep- he is. ;D
And speaking of side affects- I've always wondered if maybe there's an actual reason for Mia's selective hearing.
Today I was more worried about my hearing. No sooner had we found our lane and gotten our targets hung, than the two guys in the lane right next to us started shooting a - wait while I ask Zach what that was called- a Smith and Wesson 500. For those of you- hang on, he's telling me something about guns and helicopters, okay he's done- who have no idea what a 50 caliber is, it is something that makes a noise akin to a sonic boom when you are standing next to it and it goes off without a warning from it's operator whom you suspect thought it would be funny to get a good reaction from you. Once my heart realized I wasn't dead, and it still had a job to do, I caught my breath and went with Zach to the back of the room. Mr. "Wesson" fired off three more rounds, and each was just as disturbing as the first. Luckily, each bullet cost him $4 and he only had 12. I went outside to witness the ego-trip through the bulletproof glass. I kept my earplugs in and still jumped a little when he fired. One of the gentlemen from the sales counter came up and told me the price of each bullet. He laughed at my reaction and said, "Yeah! Some guys have more money than brains!"
One minute later, when the $48 was good and blown, I came back and we proceeded to make short work of the middle of our targets. We decided that since this gun is for self-defense, we would practice point and shoot instead of sight shooting. Which is good, because I actually have really bad vision in my right eye, and needed both anyway. Zach was proud of me and called me a "dead eye," and a "show off." Apparently, one-handed is a cool thing. I already knew the show off part, but dead-eye was a fun new one.
The Smith and Wesson guy next to us told me to tell Zach to lean forward to help his aim, and explained to me that he was a very experienced shooter. So I did. It didn't help- Zach had already been doing really well and was now kind of distracted. But that intrigued me about the guy's aim. Must be pretty good if he's willing to advise someone who filled in the "expert" box on the sign in sheet. Halfway through our session the guy asked Zach if he wanted to trade guns (he had rented a different kind that was basically ours, only bigger) so he could try something that actually hit the target. Then as they went to shoot, he warned Zach that it "shoots low- way low." So Zach compensated a tad and ended up with a hole at the top of the target. The rest he got in the middle. When we pulled it back the guy looked over to see how he did. "Huh..." *scratch the head* So much for the "lean forward" tip. No wonder he was shooting low.
I wanted to part the curtain of ego every time I stepped back to the firing line.
We made it out alive. Our little target man wouldn't have. Got that food storage stealer/killer/bad guys? Target man was toast.
I need to bake something.