And I Didn't Cry...

It was time. Actually, way past time.  I grew up with parents who owned fire arms.

 I saw them.

 I hated them.

 So much so that I was determined never to own one. It probably didn't help that I had dreams for... oh, 8 plus years of being shot every night. Then came 2007: a move to Colorado, the belief in the 2nd amendment, and a husband determined to have his wife conquer this fear. So, four years later, we signed up for a gun safety class and finally went, not sure exactly what to expect. After about 3 to 4 hours of classroom time that actually wasn't boring at all, we went to the range. I usually cry around guns as well as shake. Our instructor has been doing this for 30 years so I felt safe. The smell and taste of the basement filled with rows of people shooting all sorts of weapons lingered in my mouth until dinner. Not sure what it was other than gun powder. There were a bunch of us shooting. Man, I'm glad I had on ear protection. T stayed behind the glass for this first shot. He was waiting for the sprinklers to turn on and I had a moment where they almost did but I sucked it up, pulled up my big girl boots and said, "I can do this."

T finally made his way into the room with me and sweet man he is, recorded his wife shooting a gun. I tried a 22 and I think a 380? The 22 was fine. Not too bad and our instructor gave me some great tips. Did I mention our instructor is a SHE?  I thought I would love the smaller hand gun but actually hated it. It scared me so bad I closed my eyes when it went off. It was loud, powerful and had a little burst of "fire" with every shot. After a shot maybe two, I looked back at T trying to determine if I would empty the other 4 rounds. I felt like I was back in Guatemala unable to get off the zip-line. Only this time, I could put the weapon down and walk away. But I was not going to do that. I gave myself a pep talk and said, "If you can finish that darn zip-line, you can shoot 4 more loud scary rounds." Did not like them one bit but shot better with it than the 22. When it was all over, I walked up the stairs with a deep exhale.

I did it.

 T and I both passed our test and celebrated with a mar-velous dinner out. Someone asked me back at the classroom after our test how I felt shooting the first time. The best description I could come up with was Golf. I felt like I was trying to learn how to golf all over again. Put all the pieces together, stand just so, close one eye, look at the target and maintain control while pulling the trigger so I didn't shoot the ceiling. Quite awkward. I think practice makes perfect in lots of areas of life  and this... well, this is in the top 5. Looks like I'll be spending more time at the range.