thomas got this bug where he wanted a gun for his birthday. i frowned and fussed and did my best to discourage, but it was his birthday money and he could do whatever he wanted with it. so he got one. and then came the steady stream of "let's go to the range! i want to try it out!"
i have no idea how he talked me into it, but he did. we packed up thomas' new toy and "my gun", my grandfather's old .22 that was given to us when my grandmother passed away. i had never even looked at the thing, let alone touch it. i was scared to death of it. i was fairly frightened of bb guns, for pete's sake. how the heck was i supposed to use this thing?
it was pouring that day, but we weren't going to let that stop us. he was on a mission and i was merely along for the ride, happy to see him so excited, but my stomach was churning with nerves. we got to the range and i jumped every time a pistol fired. a few deep breaths and lots of coaching later, thomas hands me granddaddy's rifle and says, "ok, now you try it."
i handled it like a one-of-a-kind glass trinket, terrified if i moved the wrong way something would happen to it. pulling the bolt back, i slid in a single bullet, much smaller than i had imagined. i locked it into place, settled into my horrible posture, and squeezed. and with little more than a "whoosh" it was gone. no kick, no loud "bang!" that i was anticipating, more like a breeze and a whistle. "that's it?" i questioned in disbelief. "well, yeah," he replies. it was so much easier than i though.