|Anthony getting his instructions before shooting.|
|Shooting his 22.|
|Juliebelle getting some help with the handgun.|
Sunday, the kids, Steve, Pa, Pa's friend Jim, and I went out towards Black Creek to go "shooting."
Anthony completed his hunter's safety course back in April of this year, so we only thought it was fitting to get him his own Ruger 22 for his 11th birthday.
My dad and Steve had been talking about going and shooting for about a week when they decided Sunday would be the day to go. The sun was bright, the wind was mild, and the boy was beyond excited to go! I was even prepared to have a gun between these fingers of mine.
Those that know my fear of guns are saying, "What?" Well, my fear was overcome on the drive there. I was excited to step out of my large comfort zone and blast some bullets into a hillside...Dirty Harry style.
When we drove up, I wasn't prepared for the scene. I had pictured in my mind the following:
Nicely manicured rolling hills with red and white targets set up strategically every twenty feet apart. Maybe a bench or two for you to rest your knee upon when you needed to aim the barrel straight for the bulls eye. And every so often, the sound of a flock of seagulls.
Well, to my surprise, all of the above mentioned was a fallacy. Here's what I stumbled upon:
Hills of dead brush and weeds. Broken glass, empty shotgun shells covering the dirt and sticker infested, worn out roads. Bent up soda cans, blow apart milk jugs, and broken pieces of concrete strewn across the open fields. And to top it off, no bulls eyes! And not a seagull in sight.
My dream of Dirty Harry faded rather quickly. I soon retracted to the car where I sat and watched Sandlot and the Christmas Story with Lucas and Lauren for the next two hours. I would occasionally pop my head out to see the show. Juliebelle had a shotgun, a 22, a handgun, and even an AK 47 in her little hands throughout the two hours. That girl was a stud...and had such a great time! Anthony as well.Too bad my fear got the best of me. I've promised Steve I'd let my hands feel the pull of the trigger if we went to an indoor range. Somehow that seems much safer to me than an open field where bullets are flying. Until then, I'll vicariously live through my nine and eleven year old...who by the way...have not an ounce of fear. Lucky them!