Last week, high on my To Do list was to try something new. So I did. I stepped so far out of my comfort zone and tried something new and oh, so scary. I was beyond excited to try it, but at the same time my heart raced, my palms broke out in a sweaty mess and the fear of failing lumped like huge pit in the bottom of my stomach. I thought I would be the biggest failure in what I going to attempt. But I did it anyway! I signed up for a class to learn how to shoot a pistol (by the way, if you ever misspell pistol with an r at the end instead of an l, it autocorrects to pastor…which is not a good thing to learn how to shoot). It was an eight hour long course on the mechanics of a gun, how to clean it, what each part does, what to do in case of misfire or hang fire or squib fire, safety and last but not least how to aim and shoot. AND I had to pass a final in order to get my certificate….if I didn’t pass I knew I’d feel like a total moron.

I didn’t grow up around guns. We had two antique-y guns in the house, but no one used them. No one hunted. No one shot guns, cleaned guns or taught gun safety. It just wasn’t the thing in our house.

Stan grew up around guns. His family had lots of guns in the house…serviceable, working, shootable guns. The boys go hunting. The boys shoot things (mostly ducks and geese, sometimes targets, never people). They clean guns, and Stan taught them gun safety. It’s definitely a thing in our house. 

I wanted to learn, but I didn’t want Stan to teach me. I wanted to learn in an environment where I wouldn’t feel self-conscious, so I registered for a class taught by a woman and attended only by other women. I couldn’t wait to go learn how to shoot, except for that pit in the bottom of my stomach that told me I was probably gonna suck at it. 

It was one of the the most empowering thing I have ever done for myself. 

I learned how to safely operate a gun. I can load, unload, clean and shoot a revolver and a semi-automatic pistol. I know the difference between rimfire and center-fire ammo. I earned the right to call it ammo. I learned how to aim properly, and I didn’t shoot anyone, myself included. Instead, I hit the target, repeatedly. And I felt like a total badass! 

Whether you believe in guns or not, isn’t the point of this blog, although it might seem like it is. The point of this blog, my darlings, is to get you to see that trying something new and scary is empowering. It makes you feel like the biggest, best badass ever. And that’s a very good thing. 

Oh, for the love of my children…

xo,

Mom
aka The Badass