Well my first time was when I was five or six. I had seen a couple of WWII movies on TV by this time and had seen GI's w/.45's (1911's.) My dad, mom and me went to go see my sister and her husband in CO. he was a LEO. While there he asked if we wanted to go shooting my answers while bouncing off the walls was YES!!
So takes us out to the garbage pit and sets up some targets, then he got out the guns checked them empty and said I could pick which one to shoot. I went right to the .45 and they both tried to talk me out of it but my heart us set on that .45. So he let me shoot it after giving me some point and the safety lesson, which my dad had already done because of guns in the house.
So he loads up the .45 and my dad stands behind me, and they make bets as to weather I will hit the target or not. The target was a piece of plywood about the size of a laptop, and was 15 feet a way. I raise the .45 up and line the sights up as best, as I can, boy is this thing heavy. The sights are aligned, breath in let half out and (, boy is this thing heavy!), and squeeze…BOOM! My dad safetied the gun and we went to see, I had hit it, at the bottom right corner. I was smiles ear to ear. I was thinkin’ boy that had one heck of kick after they asked me how I liked it.
…That when I became hooked.
After I finished that mag, I was done with that gun and they moved me on to a .22 revolver. With that gun and their coaching I became quite a good shot. Enough so, that my brother-in-law gave me that gun. My dad kept it for me, but on a trip to Canada forgot it was in the motor home and gave it over to the BP, They said he could pick it up on his way back through. Well they did not come back the same way and did not think a little .22 was worth the extra 1400 miles to pick it up. So it was lost to use after six months.
After that my dad an I went shooting often and had a great time… I’m glad I have though memories of him now that he is gone.
So takes us out to the garbage pit and sets up some targets, then he got out the guns checked them empty and said I could pick which one to shoot. I went right to the .45 and they both tried to talk me out of it but my heart us set on that .45. So he let me shoot it after giving me some point and the safety lesson, which my dad had already done because of guns in the house.
So he loads up the .45 and my dad stands behind me, and they make bets as to weather I will hit the target or not. The target was a piece of plywood about the size of a laptop, and was 15 feet a way. I raise the .45 up and line the sights up as best, as I can, boy is this thing heavy. The sights are aligned, breath in let half out and (, boy is this thing heavy!), and squeeze…BOOM! My dad safetied the gun and we went to see, I had hit it, at the bottom right corner. I was smiles ear to ear. I was thinkin’ boy that had one heck of kick after they asked me how I liked it.
…That when I became hooked.
After I finished that mag, I was done with that gun and they moved me on to a .22 revolver. With that gun and their coaching I became quite a good shot. Enough so, that my brother-in-law gave me that gun. My dad kept it for me, but on a trip to Canada forgot it was in the motor home and gave it over to the BP, They said he could pick it up on his way back through. Well they did not come back the same way and did not think a little .22 was worth the extra 1400 miles to pick it up. So it was lost to use after six months.
After that my dad an I went shooting often and had a great time… I’m glad I have though memories of him now that he is gone.
