Yesterday, for the first time of my life, I shot a gun.
I never thought I would.
I have been totally against guns my entire life.
But part of me wanted to know.
When my dad died in January, he shot himself.
He used a hunting rifle.
I inherited another one of his hunting rifles.
I asked a friend to teach me how to use it.
We arrived at his place yesterday afternoon.
I was fidgety.
I was nervous and scared.
Guns can kill people.
Guns do kill people, like my dad.
We went out to the back of my friends' property.
First he wanted to teach me how to use a handgun.
I put my hands in the cup-n-saucer position with a black gun pointing at the target.
The recoil was just as scary as pulling the trigger.
The casings fell to the ground one by one.
I pulled the trigger five times.
My dad pulled the trigger once.
I could not help to think about his suicide.
To think about him.
To remember seeing his blood on the ground.
Seeing his eyes black and blue.
I do not think this will be a new hobby of mine.
But... I have done it.
And of course, I wondered what Roger would say.