My wife does not like guns. She likes the fact that I have several in the home even less. From her perspective, it’s such an odd thing for me to purposefully drive to the firing range near Branson to shoot my firearms for fun. I honestly think she is worried that the rifle will somehow, magically, blow up in my face. To her there is no such thing as firearm safety. They are just too dangerous for her. So it’s just as well that she doesn’t know anything about them.
I, however, was raised with guns and more importantly gun safety. I started shooting at 5 and 6 years old. My father and I were in a mountain man club – similar to a re-enactment club, except the majority of our time was spent shooting our muzzleloaders at the range. A muzzleloader, is an early model rifle. The powder is poured into the barrel, followed by the lead ball.
I was so small …(well I wasn’t really small as you can guess from the name of the blog). I was so young that I wasn’t able to hold the heavy muzzleloaders by myself. So my dad built me a kid-sized muzzleloader. He is unbelievably talented with his hands. We shot our guns, attended mountain man rendezvous, and really formed wonderful memories together.
With the business of life, I really don’t get the change to shoot anymore. That is, until my friend Gabe joined the Army and became a sniper. He is doing his second tour of duty in Iraq right now. He was home this last week on leave, then he heads back to Iraq for another nine or twelve months or who knows; it’s the Army.
When Sgt Gabe comes home, we got shooting, which just makes Kathy crazy. Gabe and I will pop down to the Busiek shooting range near Branson. The last time we went, he brought four rifles with him and I took three of mine. That was one big freaking mistake because these Army boys are just crazy with cleaning their firearms. We break the guns down all the way, which means we take them apart from the stock, pull the trigger mechanisms out and all of that. It’s a good habit, but when you spend all day at the range and then have to come how and spend the next six hours cleaning on the kitchen table (until 11 pm) it does not make for a happy wife. I had to impose a firearm limit and a specific time table.
There is something very primitive and authentic – male – about spending the day shooting with family and friends. It can be very soothing too, as long as you clean your guns on the porch.
I, however, was raised with guns and more importantly gun safety. I started shooting at 5 and 6 years old. My father and I were in a mountain man club – similar to a re-enactment club, except the majority of our time was spent shooting our muzzleloaders at the range. A muzzleloader, is an early model rifle. The powder is poured into the barrel, followed by the lead ball.
I was so small …(well I wasn’t really small as you can guess from the name of the blog). I was so young that I wasn’t able to hold the heavy muzzleloaders by myself. So my dad built me a kid-sized muzzleloader. He is unbelievably talented with his hands. We shot our guns, attended mountain man rendezvous, and really formed wonderful memories together.
With the business of life, I really don’t get the change to shoot anymore. That is, until my friend Gabe joined the Army and became a sniper. He is doing his second tour of duty in Iraq right now. He was home this last week on leave, then he heads back to Iraq for another nine or twelve months or who knows; it’s the Army.
When Sgt Gabe comes home, we got shooting, which just makes Kathy crazy. Gabe and I will pop down to the Busiek shooting range near Branson. The last time we went, he brought four rifles with him and I took three of mine. That was one big freaking mistake because these Army boys are just crazy with cleaning their firearms. We break the guns down all the way, which means we take them apart from the stock, pull the trigger mechanisms out and all of that. It’s a good habit, but when you spend all day at the range and then have to come how and spend the next six hours cleaning on the kitchen table (until 11 pm) it does not make for a happy wife. I had to impose a firearm limit and a specific time table.
There is something very primitive and authentic – male – about spending the day shooting with family and friends. It can be very soothing too, as long as you clean your guns on the porch.
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1 comment:
Reading this made me want to grunt in appreciation.
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