When she was a 19-year-old professional ballerina, my daughter asked me to take her to the range. I started to pack up a .22 and she said no.
"Those things are boring," she said. "I want some action!" So. I packed a couple of .45s with full-power ammo. At the range, she loaded my light-weight Commander and zeroed in on a target at 10 yds.
Bang! 8. Bang! 10. Bang! 9. Bang! 9. She turned to me with a big grin. "This is fun!"
When I was a firearms instructor in the Army, I lost count of the 250 lb soldiers who claimed the 1911 kicked too much and you couldn't hit anything with one. If they could have watched my 95 lb daughter punching holes in the middle of the bullseye, they'd have slunk off with their heads down.
"Those things are boring," she said. "I want some action!" So. I packed a couple of .45s with full-power ammo. At the range, she loaded my light-weight Commander and zeroed in on a target at 10 yds.
Bang! 8. Bang! 10. Bang! 9. Bang! 9. She turned to me with a big grin. "This is fun!"
When I was a firearms instructor in the Army, I lost count of the 250 lb soldiers who claimed the 1911 kicked too much and you couldn't hit anything with one. If they could have watched my 95 lb daughter punching holes in the middle of the bullseye, they'd have slunk off with their heads down.