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Suddenly There was a Pop, and a Slight Jerk of the Gun

Kasey Tross
Mother 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.

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