Quoted because format was messed up.
Perhaps the most dissatisfying aspect of the relationship between me and my dad is his stiff and unimaginative approach for father-son bonding time. There are things we disagree on and some things I do drive him crazy and vice versa, but aside from that our relationship is close and traditional but unique. There are so many things we could do together, but he is glued to generic pastimes. Why the urge to go fly fishing? Why would that even cross his mind? I consider the shooting range the least painful of these fatherly morale-boosters. I don’t get anything out of shooting guns, and consider it uneventful, but it is at least something I can zone off during. Well, at least I used to. That was until one time while on auto-pilot I pointed my rifle at the paper targets across the long field and was immediately bombarded with haste and stern warnings. I hadn’t noticed that a group of shooters went out to collect their gunmanship report cards. It was a common mistake but it really put things into perspective. I now looked at my gun with a brand new respect and astonishment. I looked to my left and saw my dad and 12 year old sister. A gun is in my hands with ten rounds and no recoil. All it would take is a three second lapse of control and I could revoltingly destroy three lives. Okay that isn’t fair. It wouldn’t be a lapse of control. It would be absolutely losing my ****ing mind, but still. It could still happen within seconds. I could have handfuls of bullets inside my father’s and sister’s chests and I would be off to jail for life. The gun has so much power it is scary. Everything can come crashing down with just a millimeter budge. Two people who I love would be dead, and the lives of everyone else in my family would be destroyed. Well, thank God I’m not crazy.
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