Okay, maybe I’m a little old fashioned on some gender roles. I mean, after all, I do believe that someone should be raising the kids, and biology points the finger at the women as the most likely suspects. And I think smoking cigars is unladylike, though I always have a bit of appreciation for my guy friends who are comfortable inviting the gals out for a smoke or a beer. (I do occasionally drink beer, but some of you my be shocked to learn that I was thirty before I had my first beer. yeah, thirty.) But I’m not quite old fashioned enough to have learned to shoot in my youth. My great grandmother was a renowned shot, not so her great granddaughter.
Actually, while I’m not exactly anti-gun (in fact, I do rather agree with my friend who noted that taking the right to bear arms away from the people is an invitation to a police state), I don’t find them really comfortable either. I think the reason is that a weapon and its owner are so easily parted. Dependence on a gun that can be left at home, taken away by an attacker (or TSA agent), or malfunctioning seems rather counterproductive. In fact, I’ve come to believe that no one should take up shooting for self-defense unless thoroughly schooled in other methods of defense.
In some circles, Eastern Orthodox ones most notably, its not allowable for clergy to own guns anyway.
But since my kids have taken up the age-old little boy hobby of shooting a B.B. gun in the back yard, I have to admit developing an appreciation of the sport. After all, there are clearly defined goals (which involve shooting holes in stuff), measures of success (holes in stuff) and areas of improvement (locating holes in stuff closer to the center of the target). Maybe its all the testosterone in my house, but I’ve learned to appreciate destruction, as long as what gets destroyed wasn’t important, useful, or mine.