Lynna Clark: Merry Christmas to me!
Nothing says Happy Holidays better than a concealed carry class. So we signed up for one being offered the Saturday after Thanksgiving. We sat in a class from nine a.m. to nearly six p.m. So much information had to be covered that the instructor gave the wonderful option of only taking a 20 minute lunch break. Guys took off to the nearest gas station for pizza and wings and such. We opted to stay put and eat our granola bars. Okay, so there might have been a Snicker consumed as well. I am not myself when I’m hungry.
Everyone seemed very knowledgeable, especially the man sitting beside me who travels for a living and happens to know every gun law in every state. Silently I begged God to muzzle the dude so that we could just be done. I on the other hand, tried to disappear and hoped not to be called upon. I wondered what in the world had possessed me to take the class.
I fully expected to be brought to the front after the instructor graded my paper. I imagined a scene where he offered, “The bad news is you failed. The good news is that you can go get supper now.”
At that point I hardly cared. I was shaking hungry. After taking the written exam we would proceed to the shooting range. He warned us about the computer screen at each shooting booth. “Only hit the buttons I tell you or you’ll jack the whole system up.” Another terrible scene flashed through my very tired brain. I was confident in one thing. If anyone was going to hit the wrong button, it would be me.
Eventually it was my turn to shoot. When I stepped into my booth the screen went blank. I was not about to touch that thing. Our instructor came over and brought the choices up on the screen. Quickly he told me how to move the target. With ear protection on I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Plus every shot the other students took made me jump like a cricket in a chicken coop. I was so nervous and so hungry I could hardly hold the gun. Several deep cleansing breaths later, I settled in and began shooting. Even as nervous as I was, all I had to do was imagine someone trying to snatch one of my grandchildren. The poor target guy never stood a chance.
It was time to move the target farther away. In order to pass the class I would have to fire thirty rounds into what would be considered center mass… in other words, more bad guys snatching sweet grandbabies. But this time they’d be across the yard.
A hot flash came like molten lava and hit my own center mass. It was so intense it fogged up my protective eyewear. Seriously. I couldn’t see a thing. My hands were shaking and my heart was pounding.
But guess what.
I did it.
With a little swagger, I turned in the noise reducing headgear, the sweaty eyewear and my target with all but three holes in the middle of a very bad man. On the way home we drove through Chick-fil-A where it was their pleasure to toss food into a bag. It might’ve been the best meal I’ve ever had. I dripped Polynesian sauce down the front of my shooting shirt but it didn’t even matter.
Jingle bells and shotgun shells! I did it!
Merry Christmas to me!
By Ann C. Wayne, special to the Salisbury Post Dust covered their shoes as the Americans walked the rutted dirt... read more