Yvonne Battle-Felton

One weekend I went to a gun range to shoot, well, sort of.

I went to shoot and get certified to do, well that I wasn’t quite clear about. So, I got to the class, late. My friend, another single mom, which may have explained the low cut blouse (the lone female instructor made a point of telling her not to shoot a semi-automatic because the brass would burn between her breasts…awkward?) was already there, and when I walked through the door her face lit up, it’s so sweet to have friends like that. But why she was so surprised to see me when the instructor and she spent ten minutes on the phone giving me directions (until my Sprint network lost signal) is sort of weird, but still. So, she turned and waved when I came in and everyone turned and so I had to smile. They ushered me in so I could sit next to her, near the front. Everyone saw, heard, or felt me come in.

What I got from the class were the three basic rules of handling a gun: never point the gun at anyone you aren’t going to shoot, never load the gun unless you are going to shoot and something else about the gun or shooting. The instructors went over some basic parts of some guns and they were ready to certify.

They asked if anyone now, after having watched the video, wanted to get certified. A few hands went up, mine didn’t. So after the presentation I asked when I could see the next video, I was told it would be during the next class, probably in an hour or so, that was fine with me. But I could fill out the application now, ok that was fine, then the other instructor filled it out and before I knew it was I certified.

Ummm….ok, so then they wanted the class to go out to eat at the picnic tables…ok, I didn’t actually register for the event. When I breezed past the people at the Juneteenth registration booth, it turned out I was supposed to register for there. They didn’t know, I didn’t know or they didn’t know I didn’t know. So I had to back track and register (though I was already certified).

My friend and I ate, most of the food was good, some of it was…It really doesn’t take that long to eat, the echo of gun shots has a way of making you eat faster. The sun, my impatience or–ok, probably my impatience–made us start asking at 1:15, how long before we started shooting. “Oh, in about 15 minutes,” one person said, “probably in 30 minutes,” answered another.

“At 2 o clock,” replied the instructor absently, as if I had no place else to go and nothing else to do but wait for the group to finish eating. Have I mentioned I arrived by myself? So, by 1:24 I was in my car, certified to purchase a gun in the State of MD based on a video I never saw and a gun I never held.

Did it ever occur to them to ask why I needed a gun?