Reclaiming My Manhood

After six rounds, I still didn't see any bullet holes in my target.

For a second, I thought about shooting at Chris' target. If he got mad and said something, I'd just say, "Hey, I'm sorry buddy- I thought I was, uh, shooting at that S.O.B. Kennedy."

Everything is either a joke or a movie line. Occasionally, it may even be a joke from a movie line. Point is, there isn't much I take too seriously.

I previously mentioned Brian; he's Dallas Police Department and the reason I was in the position I was in. He grew up in Mesquite and went to college at Texas Lutheran. Point is, he's redneck through and through. Which means he likes guns.

Sunday morning, Brian, Larry, Chris, and I went to Garland to a shooting range Brian frequents twice a week. Larry needed to sight his scope, mine had never been sighted, and Chris and Brian just wanted to shoot some stuff up. We were still feeling bad from the time we took Brian out to play his first round of golf a few months ago. We needed to do something on his turf, something he could organize.

I hadn't fired a live round since high school. But for the occasional BB gun, I hadn't fired anything in a very long time.

Not that I think they are the exception, but the place Brian took us to is very serious about safety. The range is an open field with targets on the far end and booths on the other. About five feet behind each booth is a painted strip. Every fifteen minutes, the range calls a cease fire. Once it is called, everyone must step clear the chamber, open the bolt, and stand behind the stripe. After that, everyone is clear to walk to his target without touching anything on the booth. Upon returning behind the stripe, the range calls off the cease fire and everyone is free to shoot again. I found the regimen quite comforting, actually.

Anyway, I was a bit nervous loading my rifle. Like I said, it had been over fifteen years that I had squeezed a trigger. After shooting six rounds, I looked to see if I had hit anything. Nothing. I looked at the targets next to me and saw holes scattered around them. I didn't say anything for fear of being made fun of. I eventually told myself that the scope must be off, but I don't know enough to try to adjust it myself.

After the first cease fire and confirming that my target was still fully pristine, Chris offered to sight it in. I prayed his first shot would miss paper as well. Half a dozen shots later, he still hadn't figured it out. Brian took his turn and didn't hit paper, either.

While Brian messed around with my rifle, however, I shot his; his is a .30-06, mine a .243. I've always been comfortable with my vision and I was able to control my breathing. After unloading eight rounds, I knew they all hit their target, one landing in the eye. I could walk the football field's length and retrieve the target with pride.

It was a fun day spent with the boys. Especially experimenting with Brian's AR-15, the civilian model of the military-issued M16.

Now that the days are longer and the weather is warmer, I'm looking forward to the next outing, whatever it turns out to be.