Then . . . Get your concealed carry license, they said. It'll be fun, they said. And it'll teach me how not to be scared of guns. So I signed up for the John A. Logan class with Bob Alcorn and Vance Schmid and learned more about makes and models of guns, gun construction, bullets, how bullets are made, what makes bullets work, where one can carry a gun (not really anywhere I go . . . being a teacher and all . . .), what the laws are about access to guns, gun safety, etiquette at gun ranges, and on and on and on. In two eight-hour lessons. As an English teacher, I felt very much like a fish out of water, but after I realized that I was not going to be tested on all the gauges, makes, models, and technologies behind firing a weapon, I was able to relax a little and just focus on shooting properly and memorizing all the safety rules.
There are actually two firsts in this post: on Wednesday, I fired a gun for the first time ever in my life. The gun is a Beretta Bobcat .32, and here is my bag, packed professionally by Dad with all my stuff--ear protectors, eye protectors, bullets, and a tool for loading the bullets into the magazine.
So, on one of the hottest days of the summer, Dad and I headed out to the Harshas' land in Vergennes to teach me how to shoot! See the fog? That's my camera, cranky from the move from inside the air-conditioned car to the shooting range in the humidity . . . .
And then it was my turn. Yikes. To be very honest with you, my heart was pounding a little from fear of the machine in my hands. I held the power to seriously wound--or kill--myself or my dad with that gun, and that knowledge made me edgy. Dad has had guns in our house my whole life--as a hunter, former Marine, and sportsman, he feels comfortable around them and cleans them with precision and cares for them tenderly. Me, not so much. I didn't EVER pay attention when he was messing with the guns or look too carefully when there were deer draining in the yard, preferring instead to find something else more fun to do. Now, however, I needed to learn ALL THE THINGS before class tomorrow! No pressure . . . .
So. He handed me the gun, explained how to handle it safely while I loaded it, how to put bullets in the top chamber and also in the magazine, and where the safety was. Wearing my new (pink) safety glasses and electronic ear muffs, I approached my target, and assumed a comfortable stance, and then pulled the trigger. BANG!!! HOLY FLIT. That was scary. It really was. But I did actually hit the target paper . . . so . . . it also felt victorious! HA! I can totally do this. And then the next reloads were equally successful, and with each reloading and firing, the gun became less scary and more like a tool that I could safely control. There is a certain comfort in knowing how to make sure the gun is empty and knowing how to hold it when it isn't, and while I do feel less ignorant of guns and their workings, I do still feel extremely respectful of them, recognizing that they are capable of taking life. See? Here I am:
And, after my classes at John A. and qualifying test on the Egyptian Rifle and Pistol Club, I am the proud owner of this certificate:
So there it is! And other than a few snafus, which include my putting my holster on incorrectly the first time, not knowing what kind of Beretta I had when the instructor asked me on the first day, and the lizard kerfuffle*, it was a significant learning experience that I'm glad I went through. I really do feel safer, both knowing how to handle a gun safely and knowing Mom and Dad will feel better about my having access to their guns now that I know better about how to treat them. And two more firsts were accomplished!! Check, check!!
*Okay. The Lizard Kerfuffle story. After we finished our four-hour class on the laws of concealed carry and then lunch, we were to meet at the gun range for the lessons on how to holster and unholster a gun. There's a classroom out there, a cinder-block building with air-conditioning and tables, and as I walked in behind the other classmates, a GIANT LIZARD** raced all fast and wiggly RIGHT IN FRONT of my feet!! So I screeched a little***. My yelping sure got the attention of all the little old men who wore hearing aids and who hadn't heard a word I'd said in two days, and it should be noted that I probably scared the doodoo out of an entire classroom of people holding guns. Holding his chest over his heart, Vance asked what was wrong, and when I gasped that there was a slimy LIZARD in his building, he did not respond with the level of concern I wanted. "Oh, yeah," he said. "Those things are everywhere out here. So grab a seat, everybody, and we'll begin . . . ." Meanwhile, my heart was still thumping, and now I would spend the rest of my lesson in the building watching the floor around my feet and along the walls. Just in case.****
** I might be exaggerating. He might have been about five or so inches big. But for the intents of this story, please picture a Komodo Dragon.
*** Maybe a lot. And maybe hopped a little.
**** No more lizards spotted, but I could FEEL their presences. So be on your guard if ever you find yourself at the Egyptian Rifle and Pistol Club.
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