NO MORE A GUN VIRGIN

I have to make this confession. I have to do it now while I have the nerve to do it. It’s always hard to admit these things. I mean, I’m an American, I live in Colorado—it’s not like I haven’t seen this sort of thing on the streets, in my father’s bedroom closet behind his church suits, on television. I know that my friends have had experience in these things for much longer than I, yet I would just laugh along at their stories as if I knew the titillating thrill of which they spoke.

Well my days of pretending are over. I am now a man of experience—at one with the ways of the world. I know the secret passion that I had always longed for but was just too timid to take. I am no longer a gun virgin.

Oh, don’t think that I haven’t dabbled. I’ve experimented as a teenager—who hasn’t? But I never really went “all the way” when it came to firearms. I have looked down the barrel of my dad’s .22. I’ve seen them, touched them, and always wondered what it would be like to fire one. I played a mean Duck Hunt on the Nintendo NES. One time, when I was 15, I shot a black powdered rifle. I learned just recently that it had powder but no ball.

No ball--are you kidding me? I shot an impotent gun!

Last weekend, in the summer of my 41st year I went to Cherry Creek State Park where I ended my secret shame. I went with some friends to celebrate a 40th birthday and shot 12 gauge rifles at some poor, unsuspecting clay pigeons. In 25 shots I hit 13—not bad

Now I will take measures to ensure that I don’t miss out on the fun any longer. I am shopping for a shotgun of my own. I am researching guns, prices, and testimonials. I plan on renting a few before I buy. I am even looking into the law—so’s that I don’t go breaking it or nothing’ like that. (Sorry, my inner-redneck just woke up from a long slumber.) The law in Colorado is surprisingly more lax than the media reports.

Now I know what it is like to walk in the sun for the first time in my life. My step has a spring in it that I have never experienced. I’m going to take my wife shooting on Labor Day—she should share in this, up until now, forbidden passion with me. What a great day to be an American!

The Highland Wizard

He travels the hills by day
collecting roots and twigs and grass
he wanders across the valley
searching the wide morass.

He passes by no fungus
and covets every spice.
His skills at potion brewing
have earned a handsome price.

He seeks to help the widow
with the useless withered arm.
He packs a fragrant sachet
for a bridal good luck charm.

The mountain people seek him out--
they travel from miles away
to find the old White Wizard,
and no one refuses to pay.