I am an American
I am an American
This weekend, I became more American then ever. I exercised my constitutional right to bear arms. I have born a gun and learned to use it.
Saturday, I visited my uncle's house. My uncle lives in Northbrook. There's a nice park and baseball field next to the house, and you can see out into it. The sky was gloomy but pretty and open from their kitchen. My dad came too, and my grandpa was there. We all sat at the table. It was my uncle's b-day the day before and we were celebrating. My grandpa baked some chicken for the occasion. My grandpa kept trying to give me more food. Coleslaw was brought to the table and I had some. I knew he made it, but I also knew that it would please him if I asked where they bought the coleslaw it was soooo good. They said, oh no, he made it. You could see he fell for it. He kept putting more on my plate, like a grandma. It was cute. When grandpa wasn't feeding me, he kept tooling around trying to figure out the tape player and some Russian tapes he wanted to hear. He couldn't get whatever he wanted done, and seemed frustrated, but didn't want any help, it seemed.
My cousin wouldn't sit at the table and his mom kept urging him to eat more. She said he already had his 200 calories for the day, so he won't eat much. Yet, with this realization, she kept asking him to eat more, eat this and that, and the more she nagged, the more he refused. I think she doesn't know it, but she needs a dog. It would be probably end up like my cousin though, after a while, ignoring her. My cousin said he didn't want to eat home-cooked meat, somehow he has a stigma against it and thinks fast food is safer. The kids these days! I noticed there was a dent and some paint missing on the family room ceiling and asked what happened. Everyone ignored my question and my cousin said drop it. I never found out what happened, mental note to ask. I know at some point my uncle broke down his door and that he has a chain and a padlock on it just in case, now. I don't know what kind of issues they have, but if you didn't know there were any, you'd never guess.
My aunt and uncle started changing the table for desert, and my aunt continued telling my cousin to eat more. I said to him, "ping-pong" and we went down to the basement to play. We played for like 20 minutes and talked about all sorts of stuff, his future plans, mostly. He mentioned the day before, he didn't know what to do for college. I smirked -- I knew what I wanted to do for college, like that did me any good. I suggested internships and working a bit before making a decision. His dad came down and was in the other room, so we figured cake and tea were now ready and we'd better come up. My cousin really listens to me and I think I give good advise. He was whining about his parents and freedom and how there's nothing to do for him and his friends accept driving around and drinking. I didn't like that. He also wanted to know if I'd buy them alcohol. I didn't like that either. I told him a few months ago to get a job, and he got that and now has a pharmacy technician license and bought a nice little car, although that was a point of pain cause he has to work 3 more months to pay it off and he doesn't like to work (welcome to the club) and that it aint fair because the parents of all the other Northbrook children buy them Jaguars and Lexus's, brand new ones, and once they crash, they get them another one. I can see how his lot isn't as appealing. His brother is the state chess grandmaster. Hard steps to follow.
I had some brandy and everything was pleasant. My grandpa made the Napoleon, my favorite cake, although I doubt he knows it. I don't know why, but I only had one piece. He started saying, like with the chicken, that he can teach me how, it's real easy. I have another uncle that makes his own cottage cheese and strawberry spread. He says it's better for you and you save like $2 over the store price. My dad said he has to go because mom would be getting home soon, and he doesn't like to leave her home alone, he doesn't see her enough. Then he kind of insinuated that I'm not family anymore. I let that go. I don't think we talked much at dinner, about anything. I can't remember much anyway, I think it was just about the food and stuff. After dinner my grandpa said he wants to talk to me and that it's important. Then he told me about his invention again and that I should translate it to English and sign my name to it. It's a way to get yields from fruiting trees in less time then is available today. He said such technology is not yet known. He said I'm a biologist, right? I said why not let me translate it and put his name to it. He said, his name, not the most important thing right now. He didn't tell me what was the most important thing. I didn't have time to ask.
We had to get to the shooting range. It was going to close at 4:30 and we had to hurry. We took two cars, mine and my uncle's. My uncle went first, and my cousin came with me. At the first light, my uncle stopped the car and got out, started walking towards me. He had a baggy of what looked like weed from where I was sitting. I was shocked, but it turned out to just be toll change. We pulled up to the shooting range. My uncle had another baggy, this time, with chocolate covered coffee beans. As we were getting out, my cousin wrote on the salty back of my car, "I hate cops, love drugs". Not a true statement, although after my last couple encounters of them being more trouble then good, it's more true then a few months ago. When my neighbor had problems with men, and we had to call the cops because they were ringing our door drunk at 3 in the morning, we called the cops and they did nothing. When I found a stray dog and needed help catching him, they did nothing. But they were there to give me two unfair tickets. So no, I don't loves them. I also don't love drugs, but that's ok. We went inside.
The guy behind the counter, which by the way, had a wide selection of rental and for-purchase weapons ranging from semi-automatic pistols to roulette types, rifles, and knives, explained that I'll feel good after the shooting, and chase my demons away. I didn't know I had any, but OK. I didn't think Yoga was relaxing either, till I tried it. He also told me which gun to pick, and that he gives lessons, and then gave my uncle the name of a place where he can go shooting clay targets. He said that there's just a regular range and then there's a sporting kind, and it's a different story. I also applied for a permit or license to own and operate a firearm. I answered all the questions as NO. I am not mentally retarded, but I thought, would you even know it if you were, or admit to it? There were questions about psychiatric evaluations and felonies. I thought they better do a big background check on everyone, people could lie. I also looked at the NRA application but decided not to get a membership till I see if I like it and till I own a gun. The guy behind the counter, which now had a name, which I already forgot, said, don't worry, you'll like it. He also told me that women shoot better then men, we can't help it, we are just wired that way. I posed for my picture. The first time it didn't turn out, he said they'll send it right back if they can't see the eyes. My nuke asked if he could keep the bad pictures. It was fun posing. I had fun looking at my uncle's permit too. Another behind the counter guy said that you can't use it as a government form of ID in this state, but in other states, it's OK. I tried to talk to the guy about the movie Bowling for Columbine, but he didn't like that, even after I told him it doesn't dis gun owners more then everyone else.
I had some time before we started, so I walked around the store some. I asked if the James Bond gun was here, and they showed it to me. I asked if people were buying that kind more after the movie came out, they didn't think so. There was a deer head mounted on the wall too. My uncle paid for the rentals and the bullets and the targets. I would get to use real bullets and a paper target and a real gun, black, ugly, but easy to use, that's the gun the guy behind the counter chose for me, said he uses it with his lady students.
My cousin started loading the gun. My uncle was talking to me. The first few times I heard a gun discharge in the room, even though I had the ear muffs on, I jumped a bit. My uncle enjoyed seeing that, I think. It was pretty crowded in there. Next to us, was an empty stall, then there was a stall with some teens and a human image target. They had a bigger gun. The people in the room over probably had even bigger guns because they were further but louder.
My cousin went, and then my uncle showed me how to use the gun, load it, unload it, turn the safety on. I My uncle, who I guess, is somewhat paranoid, which I had hints of from my cousin who's been slightly raised into it and who has a blow gun and some knives, which I consider normal for a teenage boy, told me to take some casings from the bullets with me, so that I can leave them scattered in my car so that car thieves don't mess with me. He also explained that now if I get pulled over by a cop, it will say when the cop punches up my license plate that I have a gun, and the cop will be walking up with his hand on the holster, and that I better not make any sudden moves with my cell phone and such.
Shooting was surprisingly easy, no kickback or anything. The target had a reference at the bottom. After you look to see where most of your shots are, you can look at the reference and see what you did wrong. After the first round, I was surprised my hands didn't even shake. According to the reference, I was holding my fingers too tight, although I was 60% in the zone. I looked over to the other stall. The human target, I could see from here, had a bullet through the heart and head. I thought about how lethal this stuff is like I never did before. Holding a gun in your hands, why, that's as close to a gun as it gets.
When I was loading the gun, I kept pointing it the wrong way by accident and was promptly notified of that each time. My cousin said guns jam if you hold them sideways. A guy came in and said time's up, they're closing, empty your clip. We finished off the ammo. As we were leaving, the guy behind the counter reminded me to call him to schedule a lesson. I am a very good shot, it turns out. I did better then my uncle and cousin. It amazing that more women don't commit hard crime, if we are better then men at shooting guns. As we were leaving, my cousin erased what he wrote on my car, just in case. I thanked them for a good time. As I was pulling out of the parking lot, there was a cop car stationed across the way, waiting for something. I wondered what he was waiting for right there.
I went to my parents house after the shooting range, past a driving range and a community college. I hung out with my mom and dad, we talked about our vacation plans and my mom's holiday gifts from her students. I knew they had plans to go to their friends soon, so I left for home. As I was driving home I thought about my day. With my martial arts training and now this, I could be pretty lethal, as the guy behind the counter pointed out, in both short and long range. I had "hero" daydreams part of the drive back about that. I thought some about whether I'd want to or could own and carry a gun. I then thought about the 3 year-old that was on the news because he was discovered during a drug raid chained by his neck to a pee-covered bed by his step-mom so he doesn't go to the fridge at night. I then thought about whether I'd want to have foster children. I thought my cousin should consider a career in the CIA since he likes weapons and stuff. Musing about the future, I pulled up on my driveway and turned off the car. I am an American and proud of it.
Posted by anteojos
at 12:01 AM CST
don't ask
a-ok
cheeky