I'm the hippie and this is the story of how I came to hold a gun.
In my hometown, guns are just as much of a sport as baseball. Children learn from their dad's how to hunt for deer and turkeys at an early age. Our school is even dismissed on the first day of deer season. I, however, did not grow up around guns. My family never had the interest. The only guns we owned were passed down and used for killing rabid raccoons in the backyard. At least that's my one memory of our gun from my childhood. While my friends were showing off pictures of their first kill, I was on another train of thought. I have always had a driving love for animals. I understand the need for hunting for animal control and I don't have a problem with hunting. However, it is not something I could do myself. I grew up as the one person in my family that would stop the car to ensure a small turtle crossed his path safely. I cried the first time I hit a bunny rabbit crossing the road. I saved our kittens from rain storms, and spent many hours at the fence where my neighbors horses came to greet us. I even cut barb wire out of the fur of a homely stray goat that came for a visit.
Then there is my husband.
Kyle grew up in the same small town as I did. He was on the side of hunting skills that have been passed down from grandpa's and dad's and now even to daughters. He grew up exploring the creeks and fields next to his house and I daresay his compassion towards animals might have involved more of a stoning than a saving act. He was a boy's boy and now a man's man. And what is more manly than the act of hunting? When we started dating, I quickly found out that he has a love for firearms that I will never understand. He cares for them, cleans them, misses them, and talks about them the same way I talk about shopping for shoes. I do not pretend to like his guns. They are unfamiliar and intimidating to me. I have come to the conclusion it's best if I just let him love his guns and he lets me love my shoes.
After 4 years of previously declined invitations, I finally agreed to accompany Kyle to the shooting range on Monday.
After watching Kyle shoot for a while our conversation went something like this:
Kyle: "Well, would you like to try to shoot today?"
Jill: "Yes, I think so. But do you promise to warn me if a bird flies by just in case I accidentally might hit it?"
Kyle: "Sure, but I think the birds have been around long enough to know not to fly near the shooting range."
After thorough instructions with a few diagrams drawn, I understood the concept of a gun and was ready to shoot. Kyle said I did really well. I was just glad I hit the big cardboard target and didn't embarrass myself.
This was from about 20 yards. I was aiming for the top left white square. I didn't think it was too bad for my first time holding a gun.
While I still love my shoes more than guns, I did enjoy myself. I told Kyle I would come back again next time with him. Although, I can say with certainty that you won't catch this hippie hunting any time soon.
