Masculine Day

The afternoon was warm and sunny. I reclined in the passener's seat of David's car; soft rock played in the background as David and Jeremy laughed about my shooting skills. Knowing they were probably right, I smiled and laughed along with their banter. It had been a couple of years since I'd handled a gun and I wasn't even expecting to hit the targets. We laughed about all the other things I'd hit instead -- dirt, trees, woodland creatures, by-standers, etc.

After our arrival and purchase of targets, we set up at the pistol range and David began educating (once again) on how to use a pistol (of which I do not remember the name). It was heavy and had quite a kick -- I did well to hold on. I did not hit the target, but made tunnels in the dirt instead. No surprise. The next pistol was a Walther P22, much easier to handle. David put up a target for each of us to have a competition of sorts. (In my opinion, that's like pitting a kindergartener against highschool kids.) My turn came and I fired a few shots, wincing in concentration.

"Oh my gosh," David commented. "That's a bullseye... dead center too."

"Really?" I lowered the pistol. Sure enough -- a bullseye.

"Yeah, but the rest of your shots probably aren't even on the target," David laughed. Brothers keep you humble.

After a few more rounds with the three pistols David brought, we took the AK-47 to the rifle range. Jer and Dave went first to demonstrate how to fire it before it was my turn. I was absolutely terrified of the thing, seeing the way it threw Jer back. I gingerly took the AK-47, letting David coach me on how to hold it.

"Don't even worry about aiming at anything right now. Just practice shooting it first," Dave coached. I winced in anticipation before pulling the trigger. BANG.

"Ouch." My shoulder will feel those five rounds in the morning. The man next to us was watching the whole time.

"Would ya like to use this, little lady?" he offered one of his rifles, a WW2 replica of a 30-caliber M1 Carbine manufactured by Springfield. "It doesn't have as much of a kick to it."

"Um, sure... thanks."

By then, the moderator had dropped by (I like to call him "the warden") and all three men -- David, the guy next to us, and the warden -- were coaching me on how to properly hold the gun. I felt a little silly and childish, but accepted the multitude of advice before aiming at the 40-yard target. Here I go. BANG.

"Whoah," remarked the warden. I didn't take notice of where I shot, assuming I hit the dirt again and he was saying Whoah due to my extraordinarily poor aim. BANG.

"D**n," he remarked again. Thanks, am I that bad? BANG.

"Oh my G**," the warden exclaimed after the third shot. Part of me wanted to turn around and say "Please stop swearing and taking the name of the Lord in vain," and another part wanted to say "Will you please shut up about my bad aim?!"

"Look at that," he pointed out. "She shot three bullseyes in a row!" Yeah, right... oh, hey... sure enough, I did. By now "the guys" were impressed with the ignorant blonde who looked like she had no idea what she was doing with a gun. (Indeed, I'm not sure I did know what I was doing.)

"You know," pointed out the man next to us, "Ya oughtta get that little lady a [blah blah]." (I can't remember the name of the rifle.)

We fired a few more rounds with the AK-47 before heading home. By then it was very hot and all of us were getting sunburned. Jer and I took my car to town to rent some movies at Blockbuster with some coupons I had. Jeremy wanted to get a video game (of course) but since I was paying, we got three WW2 movies instead. I have this thing for WW2 movies that uphold sacrifice, honor, and chivalry. Call me old-fashioned or weird. Gripping, gory war movies are also the only kind that make me cry. While most women cry at When Harry Met Sally and he Notebook, I cry at Saving Private Ryan and Gladiator.

So today was a masculine day -- hanging out with my brothers, shooting guns, watching war movies, etc. -- my ways of venting not-so-feminine aggression.