Home on the Range
I've been planning a small get together for my upcoming birthday. I invited four women friends to be my guests at a shooting range. Don't get freaked out. I'm not a card-carrying member of the NRA. I've never even shot a gun before. Since I'm too chicken to jump out of a plane, it was gun range or cooking class.
My good friend owns the gun range. He and I are polar opposites politically, but we are both good people. I've known him a long time. His wife is my best friend. Anyway, I've booked a woman instructor for two hours. I think it will be an interesting time.
I don't always make much over my birthday, but this is my first birthday home in many years. A few women in my universe have been expressing an interest in going to a gun range. One woman has been threatened on an ongoing basis by her soon-to-be ex-husband. She's frightened. Coming from an abusive marriage decades ago, I understand her fear and insecurity.
I don't want to own a gun. I want to know how they work. I'm hoping it will take some of the fear mystique out of things. I want to feel it in my hands and shoot at a target so I won't feel as defenseless.
I could have just as easily booked a karate class.
A month short of being sober 35 years, but who's counting.
Deeply grateful to be of the South, but felt most at home living in New York City.