Gun School
I spent 6 1/2 hours in a clasroom this Saturday. Of my own volition. I even paid to be there.
The class was a combination NRA/state police firearms safety course, a 2 in 1. We had to pass a written exam and a practical exam at the end, but we came out with certificates from both organizations. The course also qualifies us to apply for a license to carry a concealed weapon.
If you know me, you're probably wondering what on earth a 5-foot girl, toting a pink, polka-dotted purse and carrying Reiki Master credentials was doing in gun school in the first place. The main reason was that guns look cool in popular films. Just kidding. Seriously, I was so afraid of guns that I didn't think I could even touch one without wincing. I also knew my dad would be proud of me for going. And anyone who knows him will find that the most improbable thing I've said yet.
I learned some things. For instance, if you write "self-defense" on the application form in the section asking why you want a license, you might not get it (in Mass. anyhow--our laws are often stringent but ultimately foolish). Turns out the only right answer is "target practice." Mass. law also requires a minimum of a trigger lock to secure a gun, by unless the locked gun is enclosed in a locked container bolted to your house, you may be charged as negligent if someone steals the gun.
When we got to the part where we each had to load, fire, and unload a revolver (with fake bullets), I wanted to bolt. I tried to pretend I could handle it though, since one of the instructors would be watching me the whole time. Apparently, I am not a natural. The instructor kept telling me things like no, in the other hand, put your other hand here, no, here. Anyhow, I didn't fling the gun off the desk in panic, so I figured that was an adequate performance.
The best part turned out to be the semi-automatic load-fire-unload drill. I'm not sure exactly what kind of gun we were using, but they called it a baby Glock. And I liked it. The magazine pop-in and the slide mechanisms were so satisfying. And I didn't have any trouble wrapping my finger around the trigger or pulling it.
But I think that's where it ends for me. I faced a fear and faced it down. And I'm enormously proud of my certificates. But I can't display them, because the instructor said stuff like that indicates there are guns in the house and invites theivery.
The class was a combination NRA/state police firearms safety course, a 2 in 1. We had to pass a written exam and a practical exam at the end, but we came out with certificates from both organizations. The course also qualifies us to apply for a license to carry a concealed weapon.
If you know me, you're probably wondering what on earth a 5-foot girl, toting a pink, polka-dotted purse and carrying Reiki Master credentials was doing in gun school in the first place. The main reason was that guns look cool in popular films. Just kidding. Seriously, I was so afraid of guns that I didn't think I could even touch one without wincing. I also knew my dad would be proud of me for going. And anyone who knows him will find that the most improbable thing I've said yet.
I learned some things. For instance, if you write "self-defense" on the application form in the section asking why you want a license, you might not get it (in Mass. anyhow--our laws are often stringent but ultimately foolish). Turns out the only right answer is "target practice." Mass. law also requires a minimum of a trigger lock to secure a gun, by unless the locked gun is enclosed in a locked container bolted to your house, you may be charged as negligent if someone steals the gun.
When we got to the part where we each had to load, fire, and unload a revolver (with fake bullets), I wanted to bolt. I tried to pretend I could handle it though, since one of the instructors would be watching me the whole time. Apparently, I am not a natural. The instructor kept telling me things like no, in the other hand, put your other hand here, no, here. Anyhow, I didn't fling the gun off the desk in panic, so I figured that was an adequate performance.
The best part turned out to be the semi-automatic load-fire-unload drill. I'm not sure exactly what kind of gun we were using, but they called it a baby Glock. And I liked it. The magazine pop-in and the slide mechanisms were so satisfying. And I didn't have any trouble wrapping my finger around the trigger or pulling it.
But I think that's where it ends for me. I faced a fear and faced it down. And I'm enormously proud of my certificates. But I can't display them, because the instructor said stuff like that indicates there are guns in the house and invites theivery.