kids with guns

More specifically, my kids with guns as they’re out skeet shooting with my father as I type.

I know, right? MY kids. I have a hard time reconciling it with my wet, liberal sentimentalities too.

My dad and I simply don’t talk gun politics anymore. We’ve reached the point where we get that our views are what they are and are diametrically opposed and, quite frankly, that makes for really crap debates. Bo-ring.

I was raised with guns. I shot skeet and trap and handgun and compound bow. And I liked it. And I turned out ok, right? So, even though I worry about what the recoil will do to their tender little shoulders, or them taking the butt to the chin, or A FREAK ACCIDENT RESULTING IN ONE OF THEM RETURNING WITH NO FACE!…I’m ok with it because I know they’ve got the best teacher in the world. A teacher who has been doing it for a lifetime and who will help them develop a healthy respect (and, dare I say, fear) for firearms and what they can do.

Update: kids have returned and no faces were lost, but they were fed cappuccinos and are bouncing off the walls. Apparently the son shot about 40/100 and the daughter gave up because she was scared by the recoil/the gun was too long/it was more fun to press the button that makes the pigeons flee the trap house.


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