We decided when we arrived to check into the convention to see exactly what an NRA convention was all about, and to see if we could catch a glimpse of Charleton Heston who was retiring as the President of the NRA Association. When Sharon and I get together, we are a tad over the top. We feed off of and egg on each other, while our husbands pretend they don't know us. Pretty much that is how the entire went.
The convention had all these booths set up, and we hopped from booth to booth schmoozing with the operators, and pretending we were card carrying members. Sharon and I met the candidates running to replace Heston, and proceeded to quiz them on various topics. Our favorite questions was, "Do you believe in killing Bambi?" Tom and John always walked away right after we asked that question. It was entertaining to say the least to see the candidates faces when we asked that question. We usually let them hem and haw their way through answering, before we told them we were from Indiana and Alabama, and we knew hunting. Their relief was hilarious too.
At some point, we ended up in a room where participants could shoot at targets. For a fee, you could shoot rifles at targets, and suddenly John and Tom were excited. Sharon, whose motto was "I was born to do this" jumped at the chance. I waved my hand, told them I didn't want to show them up, and let them shoot. Tom kept trying to get me to do it with them, but I said I was against guns and shooting, and just a bunch of crap to see everyone's reactions around me. After all, this was an NRA convention. Of course, I also offered up my opinions on how they could all improve, and finally the man in charge told me to put my money where my mouth was. He goaded me. I started doing my hustler routine because what the hell?
I was given my rifle and the gun man started giving me advice. I pretended I didn't know a thing. I asked about where my finger should go. I asked about where I should aim. I played the "oh, my goodness I'm a girl" card, and all of the men in the room were wanting to give me advice, including my own husband. Only Sharon was laughing. The gun man was placing my hands on the rifle and telling me to inhale, and I was saying things such as, "Like this? Is this right? Oh, I'm so scared." Sharon tried to tell the man I was full of shit, but I had the men eating out of my hands. He finally told me to eye the target and give it a go. So I did.
I shot, and then the man said, "Let's see how you did," and he pulled the target forward. Of course, I had hit it dead center. No kidding. DEAD CENTER. Everyone, except Sharon who had moved on to her own shooting, stood there with their mouths open. The guy had me do it again. I did. DEAD CENTER. He finally looked at me and asked if I had hustled him. I kept shooting. I hit a beautiful target, and then I asked about my prize. I had out shot everyone there, but they didn't really have prizes. All of the gun men working the room finally found me a prize, and then they made me stand on a chair while everyone cheered, and they gave me a medal.
Which I recently found in going through my keepsake box. I pinned the medal to my chest, told my gun man that I truly had only shot a rifle once at beer cans on a fence at my farmhouse in Indiana, but that I obviously was "born to do this", and we left. He didn't believe me. My husband still tells that story to this day. Of course, then Sharon and I really got to use the Bambi question, and then I'd pull out my award and target, and tell them I was obviously just messing with them. It was a fun day.
We ended the evening with Charleton Heston, who was truly mentally gone by then, and Toby Keith who was fighting a cold. Sharon got us the two of us right up next to the stage by sweet talking the guards and pointing to my medal, and it was the greatest Toby concert experience I've had, and I have been to several of Toby's concerts. I took great pictures with my camera (back then we didn't have those highfalutin phones) and had all of them stolen at Target's photo center, but I still chalk that day up as a win, win.
P.S. I haven't shot a gun since. I know when to stop when I'm ahead. Besides, I hate showing up others.
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