Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Breakfast at Burrito Lab is long and laughter filled. We bullshit about television shows we’re binging, novels I think he should be reading, how the sales from my first three books are going, and ends with discussing his latest dropped hobby of whittling.
The man has gone through more hobbies in the past four years than some people do in their entire lifetimes. I, however, think my Christmas gift will be the solution to that problem as well as ease some of the strain my parents are having due to the sense of purposelessness, I can tell Dad’s suffering with.
Heading to The Range at Highland, the shooting range right on the outskirts of the city, happens next. An odd mixture of oldies R&B and punk rock flow through the speaker, yet Dad does what he’s always done when it’s come to music. He happily bobs along. Searches for some part of it to enjoy.
At the range, we opt for an outside session, both a bit anxious to get some cold, fresh air while shooting off rounds. We gear up in tandem with our custom matching ear protectors, which were a gift I gave him last year and are one he never hesitates to gush about loving. He unloads his rifle excited to show off his latest purchase as much as he is to finally fire it. Admiring everything about his execution from his poised firing stance to impressive reloading time is naturally done. The man is almost a flawless machine when it comes to this particular weaponry, and those footsteps are ones I’ve tried my whole life to follow.
Allowing me the opportunity to engage in a round with the rifle catches me slightly off guard. Dad’s never been one to hoard his guns, but the thing is brand new – like less than two weeks old. He typically waits a few runs – or more accurately a few months – before letting me give it a go.
Excited by the chance, I don’t hesitate to try the Smith & Wesson AR and gingerly transfer the gun from his possession to mine. Precisely positioning the pristine piece of machinery requires more effort than usual – courtesy of it being much bigger than a pistol – and my father remains patient with me through the process. The first pull of the trigger delivers much more recoil than I’m accustomed to; however, I don’t panic.
I don’t abandon the new challenge.
I merely reevaluate my approach and try again.
Believe it or not, growing up, trips to the range often doubled as moments to give me life lessons like that. Or to remind me that he had the answer for any man who broke my heart. That really wasn’t an issue as you know but it still makes me giggle that he had a ‘plan’.
Going through an entire magazine happens in what feels like the blink of an eye, yet my inaccuracy with it reveals just how foreign rifle shooting is for me.
Dad and I switch places once more for him to go again except this time he takes various opportunities to explain what I was doing wrong.
How I can do better.
Recommendations for improving my precision.
All the loving lecturing has me grinning from ear to ear knowing that my Christmas gift is absolutely the right one.
After going a couple more rounds with his rifle, we head over to the outdoor pistol range to unload there as well. Time passes surprisingly fast causing us to fly past lunch territory into almost happy hour, something he is more than thrilled to take advantage of.
Just a few feet from the entrance, I abruptly stop and encourage us to take a detour. “Let’s stop by Tanya’s office. I wanna wish her happy holidays since we won’t see her again before the new year.”
Dad nods in agreement and follows me down the small hallway where the owner’s office is located. One knock receives us entry; however, the two of us walk in cautiously, still overly concerned about interrupting her day.
Well, I’m faking concern. I know she’s been expecting us.
“Charles!” the bubbly blond woman no one would ever suspect to own the place warmly greets. “Jaye!”
“Hey, Tanya,” I joyfully exclaim in return.
Dad plasters on a grin and nods her direction. “Tanz.”
“We were just swinging by to wish you happy holidays.” I continue at the same time I lead us closer to where she’s sitting at her desk. “We probably won’t be back in until Jan.”
“I appreciate the well wishes,” she stands to begin her approach our direction, “especially considering this is our last holiday season here in Highland.”
“Oh?” My father cocks his head in curiosity. “You’re leaving?”
“We’re moving up to Vlasta,” Tanya casually explains, arriving beside us. “While Wisconsin is not my first choice for relocating, it is the best choice.” She leans against the edge of her chaotic desk. “Dave’s father is getting up there in age and can’t live alone anymore, so we’re going to him versus bringing him to us. According to several of the books I’ve read – thanks Jaye for the recommendations-”