Keith and I spent a couple days down in Grants Pass with his family this holiday. His brother (Mike) flew in from New Hampshire and they had not seen each other in about 4 years, so we all had a good time together. We exchanged presents on Friday night and Keith's sister (Jen) gave her husband (Trevor) a new shot gun for Christmas and, of course, they had to try it out that evening. With nerves completely on end, I watched them all take turns shooting into the darkness of the trees at night in the backyard. Mike had about 2 different guns (including a 22?), Keith's dad had an old pistol, and both Trevor and Jen had their own shot guns. I was trying not to wet myself. I've not been around guns much and the impression I have of them is entirely thanks to everything mass media has taught me. Guns kill. That's about all I know about them and anything that can end a life in a fraction of a second doesn't do anything good for my anxiety problems. I refused every offer for me to "give it a go". I just can't get past that power of it. It's way to intimidating. Even if the gun is being shot at a silly target, the "guns=bad" message is too loud in my mind. Jen called me a city-girl and she's entirely correct. But I have a problem with guns because they are generally used very differently in the city than they are in the country. If a person owns a gun in the city, it's for protection against the "baddies". So is my paranoia entirely unfounded? I think not.
Saturday, we went to the shooting range. Keith, Mike, Jen and Trevor shot at clay pigeons. I was the official Button Master. When they yelled "Pull!" I pushed the button to send out the clay pigeons. Keith did pretty good for not having shot a gun in ages. And he accomplished some much needed male-bonding with his brother.