Some time before we had even came up with the idea to move to Moreno Valley, I had heard from my Mom that my Dad had gone out and bought a gun.
Not that there would have been anything wrong with that, except that she hadn't found out until after the fact.
My Mom was positively furious (not that I can blame her). Although my Dad is an Army Veteran who knows how to handle a firearm, and assured her he had the gun safely stored and hidden, she told him "You just better not tell me where you keep it, or I may be tempted to use it on you myself sometime.".
Yes, that would be my Mother.
Once we had made the decision to move, Jose and I began to get a little nervous about this whole gun situation. Could we feel safe in the house? What about the chance of an accident happening? What if something were to happen to Bubba? Or, as Jose put it, "What if your Dad just goes postal?".
Now, in most cases, I wouldn't consider my Dad capable of going truly postal-service-worker crazy. However, my dad is what you would call... Eccentric. A "character", per se. It cannot be explained, really, in written words I don't think. My Dad is someone you really have to see, in the flesh, to know what I mean by that, and to truly appreciate it. And, to those of you that know or have ever met my Dad, you do know exactly what I'm talking about.
So, you see, I couldn't exactly rule out the possibility of any of these freak-accident situations that Jose kept running through out loud actually happening. But, I convinced him that my Dad knows what he's doing, that the gun HAS to be stored really safely, and that we'd all be fine. Somehow.
So, somewhere along the line, I got the brilliant idea to mention to my Dad that maybe he should take me with him to the gun range sometime. This really excited him, and within minutes he had practically made an appointment to take me to his regular "place" after work one day. It was all set. This was definitely happening.
In truth, I had always kinda wanted to go to a firing range. I mean, my favorite (and, I must add, most skillfully executed) arcade games are always the shooting ones- I even beat the boys at 'em, every time! I couldn't help but wonder how good I'd be at shooting a real gun. How hard could it be?
First, I had to endure two separate at-home half-hour blocks of instruction on gun safety, the different settings, switches, buttons, and levers on each gun and the proper way to hold a gun. My Dad tells me this is necessary because I am going to learn how to use a gun "properly". "We're going to do this the Army way!" He says with a laugh.
Great, I think. The Army way. My favorite.
These classes teach important lessons, like "Don't ever hold your gun with one hand and fire like this" (my Dad demonstrates, holding the gun sideways, parallel to the floor, like he's 2Pac, as he simulates firing multiple shots).
"You're never gonna be able to shoot anything. You could fire 50 rounds and not ever hit your target!" He laughs.
"No cappin' foo's gangsta-style. Got it."
Because I was sooooo going to do that, right?
These classes were a bit like the idiot-proof stickers on Rubbermaid containers, with illustrations that say "Do not put infants in here and then close the lid- Danger of suffocation". But, at the same time, this "Intro to guns course" also showed me how easy it could be to have just the littlest slip-up, just to make that one little mistake, and then, BAM! I started to realize just how powerful these things are, and before I new it I was even more nervous than before. I began to wonder, is ignorance truly bliss? Am I better off not knowing anything about these guns, so I'm not as likely to worry about any of this happening?
But it was too late to go back now. Later that week, I would be at the firing range, shooting a gun myself.
The day before, I thought, this will be a good way to kill two birds with one stone- spend some q.t. with my Dad (which doesn't happen, er, ever) and get to test out my shootin' skills at the same time. I just had to calm my nerves first.
Which is what I was STILL trying to accomplish as we drove up to the firing range and got out of the car.
Once inside, the man behind the counter clearly recognizes my Dad, and they start talking like they're buddies. (This happens often with my Dad- this guy could have known him for 5 years, or 5 days. It's the same.)
He jokes, "So you goin' to teach him how to shoot today?'. I can tell he thinks this is very funny, so I play along. "Well, I'm gonna try."
"Do you golf too?" (My Dad is an avid golfer.)
"You know, I golf about as good as I shoot." This I meant as a joke, but he takes seriously.
"Well, don't be so hard on yourself. It's a hard sport."
I get some glasses and earmuffs to borrow, and we both get paper targets to shoot at.
"$5.36" Says the guy. "I won't charge you for her 'cause she's pretty." He smiles. I'm flattered, mildly offended, and feel kinda creeper all at the same time, but push it back and muster a smile of thanks.
We then go inside a smaller room, kinda like a "prep" room, and then we're there. At the firing range, where we probably spent at least an hour and I'm not sure how many rounds of ammunition.
I learned so many things in my time there, but I will try to make a clear and concise list for others who have never fired a gun/been to a firing range, so you can see what it was like.
Things I Learned from my trip to the gun range (in semi-chronological order):
1) Guns are LOUD. No, really. Not like a firework loud, although people always say that's what they sound like. More like a firework just went off IN YOUR EAR. THAT loud is more like it. I immediately appreciated my earmuffs, but still wondered how much protection they were really offering.
2) Guns stink. Literally. They smell. Again, think fireworks. Imagine someone set off a BIG firework right in front of your face, and all of the smoke just lingered there. In yo' face. Stinkeh.
3) In the movies when a gunshot happens, you always see the burst when it's fired, then the little bit of smoke coming from the barrel. Not what happens. At least, that's not what I could see every time. I could see the burst of the shot sometimes, sometimes the smoke, and usually the smoke would come out from the side of my gun's barrel (migh have been the particular kind I was using or something).
But, for one shot, I had a total movie-moment... I saw the pinkish-orange fire from the barrel, and then the slightest wisp of smoke curve out from the end of the barrel up towards the ceiling. At that moment, I felt like a female John Wayne, like I was a rockstar. However, it quickly faded as I forced myself to remember the seriousness of the machine I was handling, and how deadly it could be. Which brings me to number 4...
4) Someone can get killed, very quickly, and VERY EASILY, with a gun. After witnessing the different types of guns shooting at the range, there is no doubt in my mind how incredibly painful it must be to experience a gunshot. No matter how it happens or where you're shot, there are few things in this world that I think could do as much damage as easily as a gun. Since that day, I have been debating with myself whether I'd rather go through the pain of childbirth, or the pain of a gunshot wound. Immediately after being at the range, I picked childbirth. After imagining all of the possible hits, and the possible damage to your body, and then seeing firsthand the power of the guns... I think I'd still pick childbirth.
But, as far as accuracy goes... I think I did purdy darn good for my first time!
These are pictures of my "target guy"- all the headshots are my Dad's, but the rest of the body shots are ALL ME!!! 
There's different "points" I guess you get for hitting different areas on Target Guy- almost all of my shots qualified for the highest point value, with the exception of only two, which were the next step up! So, what that means is, I think I did pretty good! When I showed Jose this he said, "Remind me not to make you mad"!
Well, you be the judge- how do you think I did?
