This one's for you Daddy...

Some of you new readers don't know much about my growing up life, so let me recap.  For those regulars who have known me forever, feel free to skip this part. 

My parents were "older" when they had me.  My mother was 37 (the age I will be this year) and my dad 47 when I came along.  From the year I was born, my dad was a police officer in a little city police department.  I remember so many nights when I was little, where I'd go to bed in my parents bed when Daddy was still sleeping.  And then some time later, I'd feel him get up and start getting ready to go to work.  That's when he was working the midnight shift (11pm-7am).  I remember the next morning when I was getting up and getting ready for kindergarten or first grade that Daddy would just be coming in from working all night.

I remember many nights when I was a little older when he worked the 3pm-11pm shift that mom would wait up until he got home.  I remember the few times when there was "action" in that little city and he would be gone way past normal time "taking someone down" to night court.

As the years went by, Daddy moved up in rank at this little police department until by the time I was in high school, he was named Chief of Police.  I remember being so proud.  This was a man who never graduated from school, but got his GED and worked hard to make it.  My mom was able to stay home with me and never had to work a job thanks to Daddy's provision.  He could fix everything and really was my hero as a little girl.

Anyway, all that to say, I was around guns since the day I was born.  Daddy carried a variety of them while at the police force and even after his retirement.  Daddy never went ANYWHERE with his "weapon".  If you ever saw Daddy at school, church, eating out etc., I can guarantee he was wearing his gun.  I was taught from a very eary age to respect his gun, but it was totally off limits to me.  I just always knew NEVER to touch it.  And I didn't.

And now at 36, I've never shot a gun, much less handled one.  But a few months ago, Steve started talking to a couple guy friends of his who visits the range and has carrying permits etc. (One of them actually works for the sheriff's office).  Turns out his wife wanted to learn to shoot (or rather, maybe HE wanted her to learn) and so this weekend, that's exactly what we did.

It was quite the intensive class...8-4pm and the first thing you do is review range safety then you go right out to shoot.  We shot 6 rounds from 5 years, 6 from 3 yards, 12 from 5 yards, 6 from 7 yards, 6 from 10 yards, 6 from 15 yards and then finally 6 from 2 yards.

Now, let me tell you...shooting at a target from 2 yards...I hope that's something I never have to do in real life.  Last weekend I did go and shoot about 12 rounds at the range just to know what it felt like.  But outside of that, I'd never shot a real gun before.  But check out my target.

Not bad for a beginner.  Of course, the shots in the leg and arm were from 15 yards.  They tell you to practice your head shots when you are at 2 yards.  I didn't put them all in there, but I did do a few.  You get 48 shots and have to have 33 in the black.  Here's my score:

That's right.  A perfect score.  Daddy would be proud.  Now I wish I'd had the opportunity for him to teach me.  The man was authorized to carry a gun until the day he died (which incidentally was age 81) and I'm sure I could have learned so much from him.

And then I guess Steve didn't do so badly either.

But there was one tiny shot that just barely grazed the guy over there on his right arm.  And because of that, Steve didn't have a perfect score.

I get some satisfaction from beating him, but in reality, I'm super glad that if it was needed, I know Steve could defend me if the situation called for it.

All in all, it was a good day and I found something not only am I good at, but that Steve and I enjoy doing together.  I can't wait to get to the range and try my hand at it again.