So here's how the whole day at the shooting range came about. Alan's dad brought down a .357 Magnum that was either his dad's (Leigh's dad) or his brother Pete's, we're not sure. I don't know why we're not sure. (I could write an entire post on the way Alan communicates with his family. If you know Alan, you know that he gives every minute detail in any given story or account of his day, so why he doesn't ask for details in return, such as WHO gave us said gun, is beyond me.) Oy. Regardless, it was a very nice gift and we were told by the gun range folks that it's an awesome gun.
I am not and have never been a fan of guns. Don't like being in the same room with one, and especially don't like being in a room with someone touching one. Even if it's not loaded, I assume a bullet got left in the chamber by mistake and am therefore very uncomfortable. Really, really bad things have happened with guns around. Let's say you have a knife that you're holding and it accidentally falls and stabs me in the foot. I'm going to cry, but I'm going to live. But if you accidentally fire off a gun around people, someone could DIE.
Back to the Dirty Harry gun. We took it to a shooting range to see if Alan could practice with it. Since he had never shot a pistol, they suggested he not go straight to a .357 and instead that we get a little training and practice with a .22. We scheduled a day to go through the training a week later. I'll be honest. I was not loving life. I also wasn't being forced to do this, but figured it gave me a little leverage for one of Alan's future Fridays off. Oh, you have the day off? Let's go get facials or massages. You'll love it!!
So I didn't go to the training (a private lesson with just us and the instructor) kicking and screaming, but I was quite nervous. The instructor was awesome and made sure we understood all of the "classroom" info before entering the range. Oh, the range. The ultimate in scary. A dozen people with guns of all shapes and sizes, being allowed to shoot at will.
Alan was up first, and he basically nailed it. Here's his whatever-you-call-it-sheet. I wasn't too thrilled that I had to follow that.
I did okay. Here's mine.
I will say however, that it's kind of hard to focus on the sight and aim when you CAN'T SQUINT. I don't know why my face won't contort the way the rest of yours does, enabling you to shut one eye and really concentrate with your dominant one. But since I was in my 30s before I learned to whistle, I'm not too surprised. Where was my dad when I was little? Wasn't he responsible for teaching me these skills?
Anyway, I actually enjoyed myself. We'll go back, soon probably, to practice some more. Until then, I need squinting lessons.