CHL

Two of our future National Rifle Association members

Okay, if you know what those initials mean, you will know where this is headed. CHL stands for Concealed Handgun License. 

I know!

You are shocked that I know what those initials mean.

Well, I do live with all these people who go out and shoot things to put in our freezer.

When a certain person, who shall remain nameless, was elected, many firm believers in the 2nd Amendment felt their Constitutional right to bear arms was in grave danger. My husband's response was not only to buy more guns and ammo, (like he really needed an excuse :) but to sign up for a class to get his CHL. We had some friends who thought it was a great idea. And before I knew what was happening, it was this big social event and I had a ticket!!! What does one wear to a CHL class? Should I have my nails done? Wait a minute! I've never had my nails done.

Anyway, as the day approached I kept asking myself how on earth I had been sucked into this vicious vortex? I had never shot a handgun IN MY LIFE!! I've only shot the long ones once or twice. 

But since Kregg really wanted me to do it, I guessed I should. He kept telling me how fun it would be. But, I couldn't hear him over my hyperventilation.

The class lasts 12 hours and then there is a written test. That part didn't make me nervous. Irritated, yes. Nervous, no. 

It started on a Saturday morning at 7 a. m. across town!! That's just WRONG on so many levels. But, off we went. Our friends even came to pick us up! I think that was an insurance policy to make sure I didn't back out at the last minute. They wanted to shame me into coming. It worked.

The day was at least 47 hours long. But that allowed us to do all kinds of fun things like have our fingerprints and mugshots taken! We are in the database!  At the end of the day, we took our written exam. I have always done well on exams and so, even though I knew nothing prior to that morning about handguns or laws or things, I made a perfect score.

But the real fun didn't start until the next day. After church, we went to the gun range to do our qualifying shoot. Just saying that makes me laugh! To qualify, we had to be able to shoot a certain number of shots in a certain amount of time from different distances. The shots are scored according to what part of the target you hit. The target is a silhouette of a person!!! I'm just having all kinds of mental issues

Well, we arrived at the range and I know I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. I was thinking, "I cannot do this! I cannot do this! I cannot do this!" I didn't even know how to load the goofy thing. The other two wives who were in my same predicament were feeling exactly the same way. Thankfully, a really sweet lady, who just happens to shoot competitively, offered to take the three of us down to another stall at the range and work with us for a few minutes. She even let us use her guns. It really did help. A lot.

The thing I was dreading the most was having people watch me. I know it shouldn't matter. But I was really embarrassed about trying to do this in front of a bunch of crack shots. (I said "crack shots", not "crack pots"!)  But since we were having our own little private lesson, it allowed all our classmates to finish their qualifying. That was great!! They would all be done and gone by the time we got back. What a relief! I felt better. Much better.

Well, they were all finished.

But they were still all there!!

They had ALL stayed to watch us! EEEEEEKKKKKKK! Just when you think it can't possibly get any worse . . .

Well, I had two choices: muddle through or leave. Kregg really didn't want me to leave. And I really didn't want to, after already investing an ENTIRE day. Plus, what am I always telling the kids? "Finish what you start. It's about integrity. It's about diligence."

So, up to the firing line I stepped. 

You know what is the funniest part of the whole thing?

I shot the highest score in the entire class! I tied with Kregg!!!

Kregg told me that he was going to take down the alarm sign in front of the house, laminate my qualifying target, and put it on a big stake in the front yard with a sign that reads: "My wife's target." 

Hahahahaha!