Full Version: Suddenly There was a Pop, and a Slight Jerk of the Gun
Common Ground Common Sense > Issues that Affect Our Lives > Second Amendment, Gun Safety and Gun Control
Suddenly There was a Pop, and a Slight Jerk of the Gun
By Greg ChapmanDecember 5, 2008 11:00 AM
Kasey TrossMother of Two
To say that I was nervous as I placed the protective earmuffs over my head and adjusted the safety glasses on my nose would be an understatement. In truth, I was shaking like a leaf, and though I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that that is not the best condition in which to fire a gun. I had fired a weapon once before, but despite the best intentions of my concerned husband, the experience was borderline traumatic for me. This was my second try at the shooting range, only this time with an entire camera crew (and eventually, all of America) as my audience. My hopes for this being a less traumatic experience were wavering.
I had come here as a result of an unsettling home break-in some months before, during which I realized how vulnerable I could be in a dangerous situation. There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker. I had decided that it was time to stop being the victim, and to learn to protect myself with the best tool for the job, no matter how much I feared it: a gun. But my resolve didn't make the process any easier.
"There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker."
As I stood in the narrow space of the stall with my patient instructor, Adam, a former bounty hunter, I'm sure that my expression behind the glasses must have given me away, because his verbal assurances were becoming more and more frequent. He went over the basics with me again while we waited for the go-ahead from the director. Finally, it was time.
I loaded the gun with shaking and fumbling fingers as Adam continued to coach me. I'm not sure how many bullets I dropped, but he didn't seem to care so neither did I. I had completely forgotten what to do once the bullets were in, so he gently reminded me to pull back the slide to chamber the first round. And then I was ready.
I was hyper-aware of the direction the gun was pointing as I carefully held it in both hands and slowly raised my straightened arms, while behind me Adam spoke quietly, reminding me to just relax (easy for him to say) and focus on the sights, letting everything else fade into the background. I took a breath and adjusted my grip as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. He told me to pull back on the trigger, slowly, slowly, no hurry, just pull slowly, just like in the classroom when we dry-fired. I began to squeeze the trigger as gently as I could, while vague memories of that panicked night drifted through my mind and caused my heart to pound all the more.
Suddenly there was a pop, and a slight jerk of the gun.
I lowered my arms and blinked a few times, looking at the blank white piece of paper that had been placed on the board seven yards in front of me. Exactly in the center of the paper was a hole. I looked down at the gun, and for the first time since my venture into the world of guns had begun, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face...
http://ngccommunity.nationalgeographic.com...08/12/post.html
QUOTE(Frenchy @ Dec 9 2008, 06:40 AM) 
Suddenly There was a Pop, and a Slight Jerk of the Gun
By Greg ChapmanDecember 5, 2008 11:00 AM
Kasey TrossMother of Two
To say that I was nervous as I placed the protective earmuffs over my head and adjusted the safety glasses on my nose would be an understatement. In truth, I was shaking like a leaf, and though I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that that is not the best condition in which to fire a gun. I had fired a weapon once before, but despite the best intentions of my concerned husband, the experience was borderline traumatic for me. This was my second try at the shooting range, only this time with an entire camera crew (and eventually, all of America) as my audience. My hopes for this being a less traumatic experience were wavering.
I had come here as a result of an unsettling home break-in some months before, during which I realized how vulnerable I could be in a dangerous situation. There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker. I had decided that it was time to stop being the victim, and to learn to protect myself with the best tool for the job, no matter how much I feared it: a gun. But my resolve didn't make the process any easier.
"There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker."
As I stood in the narrow space of the stall with my patient instructor, Adam, a former bounty hunter, I'm sure that my expression behind the glasses must have given me away, because his verbal assurances were becoming more and more frequent. He went over the basics with me again while we waited for the go-ahead from the director. Finally, it was time.
I loaded the gun with shaking and fumbling fingers as Adam continued to coach me. I'm not sure how many bullets I dropped, but he didn't seem to care so neither did I. I had completely forgotten what to do once the bullets were in, so he gently reminded me to pull back the slide to chamber the first round. And then I was ready.
I was hyper-aware of the direction the gun was pointing as I carefully held it in both hands and slowly raised my straightened arms, while behind me Adam spoke quietly, reminding me to just relax (easy for him to say) and focus on the sights, letting everything else fade into the background. I took a breath and adjusted my grip as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. He told me to pull back on the trigger, slowly, slowly, no hurry, just pull slowly, just like in the classroom when we dry-fired. I began to squeeze the trigger as gently as I could, while vague memories of that panicked night drifted through my mind and caused my heart to pound all the more.
Suddenly there was a pop, and a slight jerk of the gun.
I lowered my arms and blinked a few times, looking at the blank white piece of paper that had been placed on the board seven yards in front of me. Exactly in the center of the paper was a hole. I looked down at the gun, and for the first time since my venture into the world of guns had begun, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face...
http://ngccommunity.nationalgeographic.com...08/12/post.html
By Greg ChapmanDecember 5, 2008 11:00 AM
Kasey TrossMother of Two
To say that I was nervous as I placed the protective earmuffs over my head and adjusted the safety glasses on my nose would be an understatement. In truth, I was shaking like a leaf, and though I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that that is not the best condition in which to fire a gun. I had fired a weapon once before, but despite the best intentions of my concerned husband, the experience was borderline traumatic for me. This was my second try at the shooting range, only this time with an entire camera crew (and eventually, all of America) as my audience. My hopes for this being a less traumatic experience were wavering.
I had come here as a result of an unsettling home break-in some months before, during which I realized how vulnerable I could be in a dangerous situation. There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker. I had decided that it was time to stop being the victim, and to learn to protect myself with the best tool for the job, no matter how much I feared it: a gun. But my resolve didn't make the process any easier.
"There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker."
As I stood in the narrow space of the stall with my patient instructor, Adam, a former bounty hunter, I'm sure that my expression behind the glasses must have given me away, because his verbal assurances were becoming more and more frequent. He went over the basics with me again while we waited for the go-ahead from the director. Finally, it was time.
I loaded the gun with shaking and fumbling fingers as Adam continued to coach me. I'm not sure how many bullets I dropped, but he didn't seem to care so neither did I. I had completely forgotten what to do once the bullets were in, so he gently reminded me to pull back the slide to chamber the first round. And then I was ready.
I was hyper-aware of the direction the gun was pointing as I carefully held it in both hands and slowly raised my straightened arms, while behind me Adam spoke quietly, reminding me to just relax (easy for him to say) and focus on the sights, letting everything else fade into the background. I took a breath and adjusted my grip as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. He told me to pull back on the trigger, slowly, slowly, no hurry, just pull slowly, just like in the classroom when we dry-fired. I began to squeeze the trigger as gently as I could, while vague memories of that panicked night drifted through my mind and caused my heart to pound all the more.
Suddenly there was a pop, and a slight jerk of the gun.
I lowered my arms and blinked a few times, looking at the blank white piece of paper that had been placed on the board seven yards in front of me. Exactly in the center of the paper was a hole. I looked down at the gun, and for the first time since my venture into the world of guns had begun, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face...
http://ngccommunity.nationalgeographic.com...08/12/post.html
That story reminds me of my wife. When we first started dating and she found out I was a gun enthusiast I could see this look on her face that said "Oh crap, how did I get myself mixed up with a gun toting Rambo".
Well, after coaxing her into shooting she has decided she likes it especially when we are shooting the AR with pumpkins being the target. She genuinely likes it! It's great to see that big smile and her laughing and exclaiming "did you see that pumkin blow apart"!!! QUOTE(Frenchy @ Dec 9 2008, 09:40 AM)
Suddenly There was a Pop, and a Slight Jerk of the Gun
By Greg ChapmanDecember 5, 2008 11:00 AM
Kasey TrossMother of Two
To say that I was nervous as I placed the protective earmuffs over my head and adjusted the safety glasses on my nose would be an understatement. In truth, I was shaking like a leaf, and though I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that that is not the best condition in which to fire a gun. I had fired a weapon once before, but despite the best intentions of my concerned husband, the experience was borderline traumatic for me. This was my second try at the shooting range, only this time with an entire camera crew (and eventually, all of America) as my audience. My hopes for this being a less traumatic experience were wavering.
I had come here as a result of an unsettling home break-in some months before, during which I realized how vulnerable I could be in a dangerous situation. There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker. I had decided that it was time to stop being the victim, and to learn to protect myself with the best tool for the job, no matter how much I feared it: a gun. But my resolve didn't make the process any easier.
"There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker."
As I stood in the narrow space of the stall with my patient instructor, Adam, a former bounty hunter, I'm sure that my expression behind the glasses must have given me away, because his verbal assurances were becoming more and more frequent. He went over the basics with me again while we waited for the go-ahead from the director. Finally, it was time.
I loaded the gun with shaking and fumbling fingers as Adam continued to coach me. I'm not sure how many bullets I dropped, but he didn't seem to care so neither did I. I had completely forgotten what to do once the bullets were in, so he gently reminded me to pull back the slide to chamber the first round. And then I was ready.
I was hyper-aware of the direction the gun was pointing as I carefully held it in both hands and slowly raised my straightened arms, while behind me Adam spoke quietly, reminding me to just relax (easy for him to say) and focus on the sights, letting everything else fade into the background. I took a breath and adjusted my grip as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. He told me to pull back on the trigger, slowly, slowly, no hurry, just pull slowly, just like in the classroom when we dry-fired. I began to squeeze the trigger as gently as I could, while vague memories of that panicked night drifted through my mind and caused my heart to pound all the more.
Suddenly there was a pop, and a slight jerk of the gun.
I lowered my arms and blinked a few times, looking at the blank white piece of paper that had been placed on the board seven yards in front of me. Exactly in the center of the paper was a hole. I looked down at the gun, and for the first time since my venture into the world of guns had begun, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face...
http://ngccommunity.nationalgeographic.com...08/12/post.html
By Greg ChapmanDecember 5, 2008 11:00 AM
Kasey TrossMother of Two
To say that I was nervous as I placed the protective earmuffs over my head and adjusted the safety glasses on my nose would be an understatement. In truth, I was shaking like a leaf, and though I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that that is not the best condition in which to fire a gun. I had fired a weapon once before, but despite the best intentions of my concerned husband, the experience was borderline traumatic for me. This was my second try at the shooting range, only this time with an entire camera crew (and eventually, all of America) as my audience. My hopes for this being a less traumatic experience were wavering.
I had come here as a result of an unsettling home break-in some months before, during which I realized how vulnerable I could be in a dangerous situation. There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker. I had decided that it was time to stop being the victim, and to learn to protect myself with the best tool for the job, no matter how much I feared it: a gun. But my resolve didn't make the process any easier.
"There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker."
As I stood in the narrow space of the stall with my patient instructor, Adam, a former bounty hunter, I'm sure that my expression behind the glasses must have given me away, because his verbal assurances were becoming more and more frequent. He went over the basics with me again while we waited for the go-ahead from the director. Finally, it was time.
I loaded the gun with shaking and fumbling fingers as Adam continued to coach me. I'm not sure how many bullets I dropped, but he didn't seem to care so neither did I. I had completely forgotten what to do once the bullets were in, so he gently reminded me to pull back the slide to chamber the first round. And then I was ready.
I was hyper-aware of the direction the gun was pointing as I carefully held it in both hands and slowly raised my straightened arms, while behind me Adam spoke quietly, reminding me to just relax (easy for him to say) and focus on the sights, letting everything else fade into the background. I took a breath and adjusted my grip as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. He told me to pull back on the trigger, slowly, slowly, no hurry, just pull slowly, just like in the classroom when we dry-fired. I began to squeeze the trigger as gently as I could, while vague memories of that panicked night drifted through my mind and caused my heart to pound all the more.
Suddenly there was a pop, and a slight jerk of the gun.
I lowered my arms and blinked a few times, looking at the blank white piece of paper that had been placed on the board seven yards in front of me. Exactly in the center of the paper was a hole. I looked down at the gun, and for the first time since my venture into the world of guns had begun, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face...
http://ngccommunity.nationalgeographic.com...08/12/post.html
wow, sounds like she had an orgasm
thought for a minute it was years ago and I was reading the letters in Penthouse
QUOTE(graham4anything @ Nov 22 2009, 05:28 PM)
QUOTE(Frenchy @ Dec 9 2008, 09:40 AM)
Suddenly There was a Pop, and a Slight Jerk of the Gun
By Greg ChapmanDecember 5, 2008 11:00 AM
Kasey TrossMother of Two
To say that I was nervous as I placed the protective earmuffs over my head and adjusted the safety glasses on my nose would be an understatement. In truth, I was shaking like a leaf, and though I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that that is not the best condition in which to fire a gun. I had fired a weapon once before, but despite the best intentions of my concerned husband, the experience was borderline traumatic for me. This was my second try at the shooting range, only this time with an entire camera crew (and eventually, all of America) as my audience. My hopes for this being a less traumatic experience were wavering.
I had come here as a result of an unsettling home break-in some months before, during which I realized how vulnerable I could be in a dangerous situation. There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker. I had decided that it was time to stop being the victim, and to learn to protect myself with the best tool for the job, no matter how much I feared it: a gun. But my resolve didn't make the process any easier.
"There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker."
As I stood in the narrow space of the stall with my patient instructor, Adam, a former bounty hunter, I'm sure that my expression behind the glasses must have given me away, because his verbal assurances were becoming more and more frequent. He went over the basics with me again while we waited for the go-ahead from the director. Finally, it was time.
I loaded the gun with shaking and fumbling fingers as Adam continued to coach me. I'm not sure how many bullets I dropped, but he didn't seem to care so neither did I. I had completely forgotten what to do once the bullets were in, so he gently reminded me to pull back the slide to chamber the first round. And then I was ready.
I was hyper-aware of the direction the gun was pointing as I carefully held it in both hands and slowly raised my straightened arms, while behind me Adam spoke quietly, reminding me to just relax (easy for him to say) and focus on the sights, letting everything else fade into the background. I took a breath and adjusted my grip as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. He told me to pull back on the trigger, slowly, slowly, no hurry, just pull slowly, just like in the classroom when we dry-fired. I began to squeeze the trigger as gently as I could, while vague memories of that panicked night drifted through my mind and caused my heart to pound all the more.
Suddenly there was a pop, and a slight jerk of the gun.
I lowered my arms and blinked a few times, looking at the blank white piece of paper that had been placed on the board seven yards in front of me. Exactly in the center of the paper was a hole. I looked down at the gun, and for the first time since my venture into the world of guns had begun, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face...
http://ngccommunity.nationalgeographic.com...08/12/post.html
By Greg ChapmanDecember 5, 2008 11:00 AM
Kasey TrossMother of Two
To say that I was nervous as I placed the protective earmuffs over my head and adjusted the safety glasses on my nose would be an understatement. In truth, I was shaking like a leaf, and though I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that that is not the best condition in which to fire a gun. I had fired a weapon once before, but despite the best intentions of my concerned husband, the experience was borderline traumatic for me. This was my second try at the shooting range, only this time with an entire camera crew (and eventually, all of America) as my audience. My hopes for this being a less traumatic experience were wavering.
I had come here as a result of an unsettling home break-in some months before, during which I realized how vulnerable I could be in a dangerous situation. There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker. I had decided that it was time to stop being the victim, and to learn to protect myself with the best tool for the job, no matter how much I feared it: a gun. But my resolve didn't make the process any easier.
"There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker."
As I stood in the narrow space of the stall with my patient instructor, Adam, a former bounty hunter, I'm sure that my expression behind the glasses must have given me away, because his verbal assurances were becoming more and more frequent. He went over the basics with me again while we waited for the go-ahead from the director. Finally, it was time.
I loaded the gun with shaking and fumbling fingers as Adam continued to coach me. I'm not sure how many bullets I dropped, but he didn't seem to care so neither did I. I had completely forgotten what to do once the bullets were in, so he gently reminded me to pull back the slide to chamber the first round. And then I was ready.
I was hyper-aware of the direction the gun was pointing as I carefully held it in both hands and slowly raised my straightened arms, while behind me Adam spoke quietly, reminding me to just relax (easy for him to say) and focus on the sights, letting everything else fade into the background. I took a breath and adjusted my grip as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. He told me to pull back on the trigger, slowly, slowly, no hurry, just pull slowly, just like in the classroom when we dry-fired. I began to squeeze the trigger as gently as I could, while vague memories of that panicked night drifted through my mind and caused my heart to pound all the more.
Suddenly there was a pop, and a slight jerk of the gun.
I lowered my arms and blinked a few times, looking at the blank white piece of paper that had been placed on the board seven yards in front of me. Exactly in the center of the paper was a hole. I looked down at the gun, and for the first time since my venture into the world of guns had begun, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face...
http://ngccommunity.nationalgeographic.com...08/12/post.html
wow, sounds like she had an orgasm
thought for a minute it was years ago and I was reading the letters in Penthouse
LMAO, good one. Minus the happy ending where she dumps three rounds into the crack addict attempting to car jack her and her two little ones.
I love those kinds of stories--probably the only reason I subscribe to NRA's rifleman. Nothing like a good tale of a hard working citizen eradicating this world of some scum bucket bastar$ who feels they are allowed to do whatever they want. You know Good vs Evil and such.
Ever fire a gun Graham?
QUOTE(IDASpaceman @ Nov 22 2009, 07:46 PM)
QUOTE(graham4anything @ Nov 22 2009, 05:28 PM)
QUOTE(Frenchy @ Dec 9 2008, 09:40 AM)
Suddenly There was a Pop, and a Slight Jerk of the Gun
By Greg ChapmanDecember 5, 2008 11:00 AM
Kasey TrossMother of Two
To say that I was nervous as I placed the protective earmuffs over my head and adjusted the safety glasses on my nose would be an understatement. In truth, I was shaking like a leaf, and though I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that that is not the best condition in which to fire a gun. I had fired a weapon once before, but despite the best intentions of my concerned husband, the experience was borderline traumatic for me. This was my second try at the shooting range, only this time with an entire camera crew (and eventually, all of America) as my audience. My hopes for this being a less traumatic experience were wavering.
I had come here as a result of an unsettling home break-in some months before, during which I realized how vulnerable I could be in a dangerous situation. There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker. I had decided that it was time to stop being the victim, and to learn to protect myself with the best tool for the job, no matter how much I feared it: a gun. But my resolve didn't make the process any easier.
"There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker."
As I stood in the narrow space of the stall with my patient instructor, Adam, a former bounty hunter, I'm sure that my expression behind the glasses must have given me away, because his verbal assurances were becoming more and more frequent. He went over the basics with me again while we waited for the go-ahead from the director. Finally, it was time.
I loaded the gun with shaking and fumbling fingers as Adam continued to coach me. I'm not sure how many bullets I dropped, but he didn't seem to care so neither did I. I had completely forgotten what to do once the bullets were in, so he gently reminded me to pull back the slide to chamber the first round. And then I was ready.
I was hyper-aware of the direction the gun was pointing as I carefully held it in both hands and slowly raised my straightened arms, while behind me Adam spoke quietly, reminding me to just relax (easy for him to say) and focus on the sights, letting everything else fade into the background. I took a breath and adjusted my grip as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. He told me to pull back on the trigger, slowly, slowly, no hurry, just pull slowly, just like in the classroom when we dry-fired. I began to squeeze the trigger as gently as I could, while vague memories of that panicked night drifted through my mind and caused my heart to pound all the more.
Suddenly there was a pop, and a slight jerk of the gun.
I lowered my arms and blinked a few times, looking at the blank white piece of paper that had been placed on the board seven yards in front of me. Exactly in the center of the paper was a hole. I looked down at the gun, and for the first time since my venture into the world of guns had begun, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face...
http://ngccommunity.nationalgeographic.com...08/12/post.html
By Greg ChapmanDecember 5, 2008 11:00 AM
Kasey TrossMother of Two
To say that I was nervous as I placed the protective earmuffs over my head and adjusted the safety glasses on my nose would be an understatement. In truth, I was shaking like a leaf, and though I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that that is not the best condition in which to fire a gun. I had fired a weapon once before, but despite the best intentions of my concerned husband, the experience was borderline traumatic for me. This was my second try at the shooting range, only this time with an entire camera crew (and eventually, all of America) as my audience. My hopes for this being a less traumatic experience were wavering.
I had come here as a result of an unsettling home break-in some months before, during which I realized how vulnerable I could be in a dangerous situation. There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker. I had decided that it was time to stop being the victim, and to learn to protect myself with the best tool for the job, no matter how much I feared it: a gun. But my resolve didn't make the process any easier.
"There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker."
As I stood in the narrow space of the stall with my patient instructor, Adam, a former bounty hunter, I'm sure that my expression behind the glasses must have given me away, because his verbal assurances were becoming more and more frequent. He went over the basics with me again while we waited for the go-ahead from the director. Finally, it was time.
I loaded the gun with shaking and fumbling fingers as Adam continued to coach me. I'm not sure how many bullets I dropped, but he didn't seem to care so neither did I. I had completely forgotten what to do once the bullets were in, so he gently reminded me to pull back the slide to chamber the first round. And then I was ready.
I was hyper-aware of the direction the gun was pointing as I carefully held it in both hands and slowly raised my straightened arms, while behind me Adam spoke quietly, reminding me to just relax (easy for him to say) and focus on the sights, letting everything else fade into the background. I took a breath and adjusted my grip as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. He told me to pull back on the trigger, slowly, slowly, no hurry, just pull slowly, just like in the classroom when we dry-fired. I began to squeeze the trigger as gently as I could, while vague memories of that panicked night drifted through my mind and caused my heart to pound all the more.
Suddenly there was a pop, and a slight jerk of the gun.
I lowered my arms and blinked a few times, looking at the blank white piece of paper that had been placed on the board seven yards in front of me. Exactly in the center of the paper was a hole. I looked down at the gun, and for the first time since my venture into the world of guns had begun, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face...
http://ngccommunity.nationalgeographic.com...08/12/post.html
wow, sounds like she had an orgasm
thought for a minute it was years ago and I was reading the letters in Penthouse
LMAO, good one. Minus the happy ending where she dumps three rounds into the crack addict attempting to car jack her and her two little ones.
I love those kinds of stories--probably the only reason I subscribe to NRA's rifleman. Nothing like a good tale of a hard working citizen eradicating this world of some scum bucket bastar$ who feels they are allowed to do whatever they want. You know Good vs Evil and such.
Ever fire a gun Graham?
No.
even back in YMCA summer sleepaway camp I didn't
parents sent a note stating I did not have permission
When you kill someone, even a "bad guy", you will have to carry that action with you forever. The grief that came to his Mom, Dad, Wife, Kids, who might have been trying to straighten him out. Or he might have thought he was robbing an empty house and you surprised him and bullets flew before anybody could think.
There are a lot of factors here.
Some time back, I read Chris Hedges's book, "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning". In it, he describes a soldier on patrol in Central America who was going through a neighborhood. He heard a sound, quickly turned around and fired a shot at the doorway. It then opened, and a little girl fell forward onto her face. Dead.
He was never the same.
Nor am I for having read about it.
"Guns don't kill people. People kill people."
True. So those people better know WTF they are doing, because death is very permanent.
There are a lot of factors here.
Some time back, I read Chris Hedges's book, "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning". In it, he describes a soldier on patrol in Central America who was going through a neighborhood. He heard a sound, quickly turned around and fired a shot at the doorway. It then opened, and a little girl fell forward onto her face. Dead.
He was never the same.
Nor am I for having read about it.
"Guns don't kill people. People kill people."
True. So those people better know WTF they are doing, because death is very permanent.
[/quote]
No.
even back in YMCA summer sleepaway camp I didn't
parents sent a note stating I did not have permission
[/quote]
Honoring thy parents request is a good thing. Good for you.
QUOTE(jeffmoskin @ Nov 22 2009, 06:00 PM)
When you kill someone, even a "bad guy", you will have to carry that action with you forever. The grief that came to his Mom, Dad, Wife, Kids, who might have been trying to straighten him out. Or he might have thought he was robbing an empty house and you surprised him and bullets flew before anybody could think.
There are a lot of factors here.
Some time back, I read Chris Hedges's book, "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning". In it, he describes a soldier on patrol in Central America who was going through a neighborhood. He heard a sound, quickly turned around and fired a shot at the doorway. It then opened, and a little girl fell forward onto her face. Dead.
He was never the same.
Nor am I for having read about it.
"Guns don't kill people. People kill people."
True. So those people better know WTF they are doing, because death is very permanent.
There are a lot of factors here.
Some time back, I read Chris Hedges's book, "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning". In it, he describes a soldier on patrol in Central America who was going through a neighborhood. He heard a sound, quickly turned around and fired a shot at the doorway. It then opened, and a little girl fell forward onto her face. Dead.
He was never the same.
Nor am I for having read about it.
"Guns don't kill people. People kill people."
True. So those people better know WTF they are doing, because death is very permanent.
I totally agree with this sentiment.
QUOTE(TheRestofUs @ Nov 22 2009, 06:07 PM)
QUOTE(jeffmoskin @ Nov 22 2009, 06:00 PM)
When you kill someone, even a "bad guy", you will have to carry that action with you forever. The grief that came to his Mom, Dad, Wife, Kids, who might have been trying to straighten him out. Or he might have thought he was robbing an empty house and you surprised him and bullets flew before anybody could think.
There are a lot of factors here.
Some time back, I read Chris Hedges's book, "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning". In it, he describes a soldier on patrol in Central America who was going through a neighborhood. He heard a sound, quickly turned around and fired a shot at the doorway. It then opened, and a little girl fell forward onto her face. Dead.
He was never the same.
Nor am I for having read about it.
"Guns don't kill people. People kill people."
True. So those people better know WTF they are doing, because death is very permanent.
There are a lot of factors here.
Some time back, I read Chris Hedges's book, "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning". In it, he describes a soldier on patrol in Central America who was going through a neighborhood. He heard a sound, quickly turned around and fired a shot at the doorway. It then opened, and a little girl fell forward onto her face. Dead.
He was never the same.
Nor am I for having read about it.
"Guns don't kill people. People kill people."
True. So those people better know WTF they are doing, because death is very permanent.
I totally agree with this sentiment.
Me too
QUOTE(jeffmoskin @ Nov 22 2009, 05:00 PM)
When you kill someone, even a "bad guy", you will have to carry that action with you forever. The grief that came to his Mom, Dad, Wife, Kids, who might have been trying to straighten him out. Or he might have thought he was robbing an empty house and you surprised him and bullets flew before anybody could think.
There are a lot of factors here.
Some time back, I read Chris Hedges's book, "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning". In it, he describes a soldier on patrol in Central America who was going through a neighborhood. He heard a sound, quickly turned around and fired a shot at the doorway. It then opened, and a little girl fell forward onto her face. Dead.
He was never the same.
Nor am I for having read about it.
"Guns don't kill people. People kill people."
True. So those people better know WTF they are doing, because death is very permanent.
There are a lot of factors here.
Some time back, I read Chris Hedges's book, "War is a Force That Gives Us Meaning". In it, he describes a soldier on patrol in Central America who was going through a neighborhood. He heard a sound, quickly turned around and fired a shot at the doorway. It then opened, and a little girl fell forward onto her face. Dead.
He was never the same.
Nor am I for having read about it.
"Guns don't kill people. People kill people."
True. So those people better know WTF they are doing, because death is very permanent.
As to the bolded above .... I'd rather live with the notion that I took a life of someone who meant me or my wife harm than to live with the idea that something bad happened to me or my wife because i wasn't prepared to protect her or myself. Police are there to investigate crimes. Rarely are they at the right place at the right time to protect someone from someone else. That is your job.
I guarantee you that I take self-defense seriously. To take a life, any life, will impact you.
Nice article.
Thanks !
Thanks !
QUOTE(IDASpaceman @ Nov 22 2009, 07:46 PM)
QUOTE(graham4anything @ Nov 22 2009, 05:28 PM)
QUOTE(Frenchy @ Dec 9 2008, 09:40 AM)
Suddenly There was a Pop, and a Slight Jerk of the Gun
By Greg ChapmanDecember 5, 2008 11:00 AM
Kasey TrossMother of Two
To say that I was nervous as I placed the protective earmuffs over my head and adjusted the safety glasses on my nose would be an understatement. In truth, I was shaking like a leaf, and though I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that that is not the best condition in which to fire a gun. I had fired a weapon once before, but despite the best intentions of my concerned husband, the experience was borderline traumatic for me. This was my second try at the shooting range, only this time with an entire camera crew (and eventually, all of America) as my audience. My hopes for this being a less traumatic experience were wavering.
I had come here as a result of an unsettling home break-in some months before, during which I realized how vulnerable I could be in a dangerous situation. There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker. I had decided that it was time to stop being the victim, and to learn to protect myself with the best tool for the job, no matter how much I feared it: a gun. But my resolve didn't make the process any easier.
"There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker."
As I stood in the narrow space of the stall with my patient instructor, Adam, a former bounty hunter, I'm sure that my expression behind the glasses must have given me away, because his verbal assurances were becoming more and more frequent. He went over the basics with me again while we waited for the go-ahead from the director. Finally, it was time.
I loaded the gun with shaking and fumbling fingers as Adam continued to coach me. I'm not sure how many bullets I dropped, but he didn't seem to care so neither did I. I had completely forgotten what to do once the bullets were in, so he gently reminded me to pull back the slide to chamber the first round. And then I was ready.
I was hyper-aware of the direction the gun was pointing as I carefully held it in both hands and slowly raised my straightened arms, while behind me Adam spoke quietly, reminding me to just relax (easy for him to say) and focus on the sights, letting everything else fade into the background. I took a breath and adjusted my grip as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. He told me to pull back on the trigger, slowly, slowly, no hurry, just pull slowly, just like in the classroom when we dry-fired. I began to squeeze the trigger as gently as I could, while vague memories of that panicked night drifted through my mind and caused my heart to pound all the more.
Suddenly there was a pop, and a slight jerk of the gun.
I lowered my arms and blinked a few times, looking at the blank white piece of paper that had been placed on the board seven yards in front of me. Exactly in the center of the paper was a hole. I looked down at the gun, and for the first time since my venture into the world of guns had begun, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face...
http://ngccommunity.nationalgeographic.com...08/12/post.html
By Greg ChapmanDecember 5, 2008 11:00 AM
Kasey TrossMother of Two
To say that I was nervous as I placed the protective earmuffs over my head and adjusted the safety glasses on my nose would be an understatement. In truth, I was shaking like a leaf, and though I'm no expert, I'm pretty sure that that is not the best condition in which to fire a gun. I had fired a weapon once before, but despite the best intentions of my concerned husband, the experience was borderline traumatic for me. This was my second try at the shooting range, only this time with an entire camera crew (and eventually, all of America) as my audience. My hopes for this being a less traumatic experience were wavering.
I had come here as a result of an unsettling home break-in some months before, during which I realized how vulnerable I could be in a dangerous situation. There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker. I had decided that it was time to stop being the victim, and to learn to protect myself with the best tool for the job, no matter how much I feared it: a gun. But my resolve didn't make the process any easier.
"There are few things more terrifying than thinking you could lose your life and be unable to protect either your children or yourself at the hands of a violent attacker."
As I stood in the narrow space of the stall with my patient instructor, Adam, a former bounty hunter, I'm sure that my expression behind the glasses must have given me away, because his verbal assurances were becoming more and more frequent. He went over the basics with me again while we waited for the go-ahead from the director. Finally, it was time.
I loaded the gun with shaking and fumbling fingers as Adam continued to coach me. I'm not sure how many bullets I dropped, but he didn't seem to care so neither did I. I had completely forgotten what to do once the bullets were in, so he gently reminded me to pull back the slide to chamber the first round. And then I was ready.
I was hyper-aware of the direction the gun was pointing as I carefully held it in both hands and slowly raised my straightened arms, while behind me Adam spoke quietly, reminding me to just relax (easy for him to say) and focus on the sights, letting everything else fade into the background. I took a breath and adjusted my grip as I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. He told me to pull back on the trigger, slowly, slowly, no hurry, just pull slowly, just like in the classroom when we dry-fired. I began to squeeze the trigger as gently as I could, while vague memories of that panicked night drifted through my mind and caused my heart to pound all the more.
Suddenly there was a pop, and a slight jerk of the gun.
I lowered my arms and blinked a few times, looking at the blank white piece of paper that had been placed on the board seven yards in front of me. Exactly in the center of the paper was a hole. I looked down at the gun, and for the first time since my venture into the world of guns had begun, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face...
http://ngccommunity.nationalgeographic.com...08/12/post.html
wow, sounds like she had an orgasm
thought for a minute it was years ago and I was reading the letters in Penthouse
LMAO, good one. Minus the happy ending where she dumps three rounds into the crack addict attempting to car jack her and her two little ones.
I love those kinds of stories--probably the only reason I subscribe to NRA's rifleman. Nothing like a good tale of a hard working citizen eradicating this world of some scum bucket bastar$ who feels they are allowed to do whatever they want. You know Good vs Evil and such.
Ever fire a gun Graham?
GRAHAM ONLY FIRES OFF HIS MOUTH!!
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