This is the second installment of our Easter weekend adventures. Warning: no pictures, just a boring story about guns. And DEATH.
Here's the thing. My family lives on a mountain. And they love weapons. The end.
Fencing swords, ninja swords, throwing stars, machetes, bowie knives, hunting knives, sling shots, bow and arrows, shields, ahhhhhhh I don't even KNOW what all, between my dad and my siblings they have everything, every weapon ever forged by man, dwarf or orc. And between my dad and my grandpa they own every gun on the face of the planet. They aren't violent or angry people or anything, it's just in their genetics or something. Somehow it's everybody's fetish and everyone's hobby. Except for mine. Back when I wanted to grow up to be a woodland elf warrior [that dream lasted for years too many] I did archery a lot and I, by law, was forced to own on knife to remain in the family. But I never got into the whole gun thing. Frankly, they scare me. I'm not against them, I just know so much can accidentally go wrong. I also know I'm a terrible klutz and way too soft hearted to try to shoot an animal to keep from starving or a person to keep from dying. So I saw no need to learn to shoot one and a serious need to NOT learn to shoot one, being that I could kill something. So unlike the rest of my family, I didn't learn to shoot before I learned to walk. And I think I may have purposely married a man who had never touched a gun in his life. I liked it that way, it gave me a break from being pressured to love guns every day of my life. My husband was happy being a gun virgin with my, and we were going to live happily ever after.
Before Craig and I had been married a MONTH, my father ruined that. And now my husband is dead. No, I mean the man I married is dead to me, the one who didn't get a red glazed look in his eyes at the sight of a long barrel and start drooling over gun magazines. Yeah, that ones dead. Now I'm married to a gun crazed fiend.
My dad taught Craig and our best friends Miguel and Brittney how to shoot last September. I was next, but I somehow magically escaped in the knick of time. I knew I wasn't going to stay so lucky. And Craig has been itching to go shooting with my dad again, like a dog with fleas. When Craig and I got off work on Thursday at 11:30 pm and he drove me 9 hours all night so I could go home to see my family I had a feeling that I wasn't going to be able to escape it this time, not after owing him like that. Don't get me wrong, I was still going to try to escape. Falling and breaking my leg sounded legit but you don't use your legs to shoot so then I considered fingers. Until Craig told me it would make him so happy if I went shooting with him.
So when dad came in the house on Saturday evening, guns blazing, and yelled "who's ready to shoot some rounds!" or something dangerous like that, I was in. I just didn't want to go first.
"Ladies first." I was so clumsy I couldn't even figure out how to squeeze the laser grip on my mom's handgun and hold the gun still at the same time. My dad was probably exasserated that he had such a child who would be so helpless in a gunfight. I could tell he was getting a little in patient, and of course I wasn't having a party, but there I was, in my tights, skirt, flats and carigan, and giant ear muffs, just trying to make my father and my husband happy. It's just a couple bulletts, right?
I pulled the trigger slowly, and the shot was very, very, very loud. My dad yells "why did you jump?" And I blubber "be-gasp-cause-gasps-it's-gasp-SCARY!" And burst out into tears. Aw yeah. I'm a warrior.
I shot the next 20+ rounds through a steady stream of tears and schmears of mascara. I couldn't stop crying, and here I was, shooting a gun in the wilderness, knowing that the whole universe was thinking how ridiculous I am. My dad thought it was super funny eventually, and gave me lots of encouraging hugs. Craig switched with my every five rounds and of course was a much better shot and got all his manly, gun wielding blood pumping. We both hit the target every time and as my dad says, we "got the bad guy." So, maybe, job well done Shilah, besides the part where you bawled like a baby the whole darn time.
Don't think I wasn't ashamed. Ashamed I shot a gun, ashamed I had never shot a gun, ashamed to cry every moment of it, ashamed to jump with every BANG, ashamed to shame my husband with my girly gun skills. But then later he smiled at me so BIG and told me that I was so beautiful all dressed up holding a gun that he wanted to take a picture and keep it forever. And he was SO happy I came shooting with them.
So it was worth it.
Since there was no real picture evidence documenting my bravery, Craig drew this for me today. He got the color of my tights perfect and everything. I think it can be said that I'd do anything for this boy, and now my dad is pretty happy with me too. And we can all rest in peace knowing there's one less deadly bullseye target on the loose, I made sure of it.