Last weekend C and I took a course on how to shoot a gun offered by the Watervliet Rod and Gun Club. I’d extended the invitation to other friends too, but C was the only one who actually signed up with me. Don’t ask why; we’re both pretty much anti-gun.
But I figured it would be better to be anti-gun with first-hand knowledge about them rather than with ignorance. We learned a lot in seven hours.
Of course, the gun enthusiasts who sponsored the ladies-only program were as committed to their point of view as C and I. They appeared to all be hunters, as judged by their camo outfits, baseball caps that yelled NRA, and somewhat dirty nails. Handling gun powder is messy.
There was mention of the Second Amendment and a comment that “It’s the crazy people who have been let out who are killing everyone”; but politics stopped there. Instead the morning’s instruction was heavily laden with the importance of safety, the variety of weapons available, and the opportunity to handle them. Really, it was eye-opening, although I should have remembered that any sport has its own language, its own gear, and its own goals. Shooting a gun is no different.
In the afternoon, in a non-forgiving deluge of rain, we went outside to practice what we’d learned with real guns and real ammunition. The importance of safety continued to be paramount.
When it came my turn to shoot a pistol, I’d watched several others before me and was ready. I shot sixteen rounds and all of them hit the target, four piercing the bull’s eye. The instructor said to me, “Have you ever shot before?” I said “No.” But I am a person who prides herself on doing things well, even things she doesn’t like.
When the day was over, both C and I admitted we’d learned a lot, actually liked the experience of shooting a target, and were glad we came. Earl has taken to calling me Annie Oakley; but, in case you’re wondering, C and I are still anti-gun.
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