Date Day :: The Shooting Range

I haven't held a gun since the day my grampa snatched a rifle out of my hands. I forgot I was holding it and turned around...and may have pointed it at someone. I forgot I had it, honest. But for the last twenty-five or so years, I haven't even thought about shooting one.

Hubba Bubba has been thinking about buying a gun. I blame American Guns and Sons of Guns. He loves those shows. However, I see no reason why he should buy one if he's never even shot a pistol before. Call me crazy.

So, when LivingSocial had an offer at Beavercreek Armory, the local shooting range, I snapped it up. I'll try anything once.

Guns make me nervous. Not other people with guns, but me with a gun. I'm distracted by just about anything, and just might turn around while holding a gun without thinking. Hey, it's happened before.

We were walked through the basics of gun safety - there was even a video where some idiot shot himself in the leg because he was a bonehead - and practiced on unloaded guns.

I wish I could say my anxiety had eased by the time we put on our saftey galsses and headphones, but these were still guns and live amuntion we were shooting. Heightened awareness is a good thing. We went back to our lanes and hung up our targets, sending them to the back wall. I have no idea what they had piled back there to absorb the fore of the bullets. It looked like ground up tires, but it is probably some hi-tech ballistics something.

Then it was time to load the gun. Oh my. Bullets, in my hand. I had this ridiculous fear one would explode as I loaded it into the magazine. But this was real life, not a cartoon, so all was well. The magazine slipped into the gun, I cocked it to load the first round into the chamber, and aimed.

And kind of stood there. Good thing, because Hubba Bubba let off his first shot and I jumped! Even with the headphones, it was loud. The plume of smoke faded and he let off the rest of his rounds. Not to be outdone, I readjusted my hands and aimed. My gun had an electronic site, for all the good it did me. I figured out how to see the red dot and pulled the trigger.

My arms lifted slightly, the casing jumping out of the gun and against the lane barrier, coming to land on the bench in front of me. I have no idea if that bullet hit the target, but I'd done it. I'd shot a gun.

The rest of my fifty rounds went much the same. A deep breath of gunsmoke laced air, steadying my hands, finding my target, and feeling the bang race from the tips of my fingers to my shoulders.

We left wanting to go back and try it again. Hubba to hone is skils, me because they have zombie targets and that just sounds like a great idea.