When I first got to Utah I asked my little brother, Admiral Fubar, to teach me about guns. Not that I have a terrible fear of guns but I want to be able to use one accurately and effectively should the occasion call for it, and thus far I’ve avoided them.
My dad took my older siblings hunting and showed them how to use weapons, and even gifted them with rifles for their 16th birthdays. A tradition that was thankfully not still in practice by the time I was born. However, he did take me out once to use a bb gun, a .220 and a giant deer rifle with a huge scope when I was 12. He took me out to shoot in a field of wheat where the grasshoppers were overwhelming the crop and encouraged me to shoot the grasshoppers with the bb gun and the .220. I didn’t really comprehend at the time how disturbed I would be that the grasshopper was moving one minute and then – it wasn’t.
I didn’t pick up another gun for almost 10 years. Laugh if you must, but a grasshopper is still a creature and when I was 12 – it really upset me (something about the suddenness of the shot, and the lack of emotional attachment to the kill, whereas stepping on a grasshopper would have an entirely different intention behind it). That same day when we were out, he set up a target at 50 yards and handed me the deer rifle. What he neglected to tell me, was that it would kick sufficiently harder than a .220. As I flew backwards to slam into the tailgate of the truck, I remember thinking what an asshole he was for grabbing the gun out of the air, and leaving me to crumple as he laughed hysterically. I later learned this initiation was one of his favorite things about teaching his kids to use a gun.
Cut to my return to Utah. Admiral Fubar took me out to the canyon to practice with a .270 which at first was intimidating. I flinched a lot before the shot, and the day after our first session my right shoulder was covered in bruises from the kick. Occasionally, I would impress him with accuracy, but for the most part he would shrug and say, “You’ll get better. Don’t worry.”
My primary goal in learning to use rifles, was that I would be able to pick one up, turn the safety on or off, load and unload, use the scope and hit a target with at least mediocre accuracy. I want to be able to prevent the brain melt of panic when around a gun.
Now, the reason I’m about to tell you this part is because there is a valuable lesson here that comes at the expense of some of my sanity, but so important that it’s worth the flak I will no doubt receive from telling it.
Last Saturday Admiral Fubar and I went to our practice spot in the canyon. I haven’t been since the weather turned cold and just to be safe we took a couple cups of hot chocolate to keep our hands warm. I didn’t want a case of cold fingers causing a trigger accident.
I kicked a hole in the snow all the way down to the dirt for better traction then loaded the .270, checked the safety to make sure it was on and eyeballed the targets at 40 yards. Admiral Fubar asked me if I needed a catcher. I hadn’t needed a to be caught before when we were shooting, I’ve always managed to keep my feet under me (just bruising the shit out of my shoulder) However, I’ve never been shooting in the cold and I worried that my boots might just be slippery enough in the snow that I might lose my footing. I agreed to have him spot me and he moved to stand behind me.
I shouldered the rifle, sighted, and moved my thumb to the safety. Unfortunately, my gloves were slippery and the cold made the safety button a little stiff. I tried and tried to turn the safety off but with my gloves, I couldn’t feel the lever or grip it so I really struggled – finally I lowered the gun – pointing it at the ground about ten feet in front of my toes and cranked on the safety. As I had readjusted the weapon – I wasn’t paying attention to my trigger finger, and accidentally used my index finger to leverage my thumb on the safety and thereby pulled the trigger as the safety came loose.
It happened so fast, I was laying on my back looking up at Admiral Fubar’s astonished expression before I even registered that I’d just discharged a bullet.
Ears ringing and my body and brain fully alert – the only thing I could think to say was, “I thought you were going to catch me!”
His eyes were wide and he barked a laugh heavy with shock “I wasn’t ready!”
“That fucking makes two of us!”
I was furious at myself. Terrified. Full of a sense of how that mistake could have gone terribly-terribly wrong the day before Christmas Eve. I was lucky. So freakin lucky.
All I could think was that I could have killed someone. My disgust of guns and my unease immediately returned as I looked at the hole in the ground not ten feet from where I was standing with powder buns in an arc in the snow.
Admiral Fubar seemed to take it in stride and suggested that I immediately kneel down and fire the last three shots. I was totally gun-shy (literally) and flinched so bad on my next three shots that I just barely hit the edges of the targets. But he was right, I needed to get right back in there before the fear took hold.
By the end of our session I was more angry than anything else, and the interesting thing was that I was more focused. I didn’t want to make another mistake and worked harder to set the sights and took longer to make my shots. On the last set up, I took my Styrofoam hot chocolate cup out to the ledge and set it at the 40 yard mark. “I’m going to shoot the 12 out of the 12 oz.”
“Riiiight.” He said.
I shot an inch from the bull’s-eye on the first target then turned to the cup and shot it off the ledge. When we retrieved it, the 12 was missing.
As we packed up, I still felt the echoes of how close of a call I’d just had. If I’d hurt my brother I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself and my respect for guns turned to a much more solid awareness that the trigger is an instantaneous conclusion to something. Whether it’s a grasshopper, a coffee cup or someone you adore – it’s too fast to make an alternate choice. So what’s it worth? I want the ability to handle a gun without fear, and with accuracy and wisdom… but what is the potential cost of that education?
As we gathered up the spent shells and climbed in the car, he seemed to take it in stride and I knew then that he is not the little boy I remember. He reminded me that yeah, it could have been bad, but that it was a minor lesson that taught me a great deal without a the sort of tragic outcome that could have taught me the same thing. Then he turned around and said, “Your aim is getting really good. I might have to start calling you Sniper Princess.”
This is my cautionary tale about the use of firearms. While I don’t believe I need to own one to defend myself, I do believe that at least knowing how to use one and use it safely could be valuable knowledge. If you own a gun, this is my plea to you to make sure it is stored securely. This is my plea that if you intend to teach your children about pulling the trigger – you also teach them compassionately about the finality of that choice. This is my plea that if you go shooting in the cold – you don’t wear gloves. This is my plea that if you are a person that requires the use of a gun to feel safe or confident or protected that you handle it with respect and a great deal of wisdom.
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