The Highly-Sensitive Gunslinger
The Wild West Of Teaching Kids To Shoot In Rural 1980s America
I was born and raised in rural, small-town, northern(ish) Wisconsin. I say northern(ish) because anything north of Madison is considered The Wisconsin Outback.1 (Great, now I’m hungry for a Bloomin’ Onion!!)
You might be thinking to yourself, “Hey, Adam, I thought you were an erudite city slicker… but… you’re a rube!”
First of all, how dare you. I consider myself to be a country bumpkin, not a rube. Rubes are from Chippewa Falls.
As a pseudo-intellectual and writer of some disrepute, you may or may not be surprised to discover that I know how to shoot a gun.
Not that I had any choice in the matter.
People like me and guns typically don’t go well together. You see:
I’m a highly-sensitive individual.
Cue the eye roll. I know, I know. Being highly sensitive is all the rage these days, but I am what I am.2
I may seem like a macho man here online with all my cat pics, but sadly, I am not. External stimuli can create a great deal of anxiety for people like me. Loud sounds are difficult to process. Bang-Snaps cause me to wince and end up in the emergency room thinking I just had a heart attack.
Do you know how loud a gun is? It’s FREAKING LOUD!
The Highly-Sensitive Child And Guns
In 1984, at the age of 11, I only knew one thing about guns:
Guns were super cool!
That’s what we were taught to think. We HAD to think it AND believe it. It’s like being a Lutheran: You don’t ask questions!
When I was a kid, The Cold War was raging, or more aptly, not raging. Regardless, we were convinced that we would be fighting the Russians in our own backyards, just like in the movie, Red Dawn.
Red Dawn was our touchstone.
And that was an exciting thought. Children of the late Cold War period had some truly stupid thoughts planted in our heads.
So, when my father told me that it was time for me to learn how to shoot, I knew it was important. It was my time. It was my duty.
How else would we help fend off the rampaging commies trying to take over Wisconsin if we didn’t learn how to defend ourselves?
Even though I was a highly-sensitive eleven-year old, it was time to step up to the plate. Lock and load. Be a man.
Gun Training
Being the skinny, highly-sensitive child I was, my father decided that I needed to learn how to shoot. That made sense to people in the 80s. The Reagan era, “be a man” mantra did not treat the highly-sensitive community well.
Still, I couldn’t have been more excited. Also, I didn’t know what highly-sensitive was. People just thought I was a jumpy kid.
My brother and I were trained to shoot a pistol, rifle, and a shotgun like real backwoods, off-grid preppers.
There was a reckless rifle range outside of town that we would frequent. The Menomonie Rifle and Pistol Club. A rundown, ramshackle shooting range where anything went. There was usually nobody else at the range. Usually. When somebody else was there, we would just space ourselves out and hope for the best.
After a number of training sessions, we became real pistoleros.
Ear Protection And The Sensitive Child
My father didn’t believe in traditional ear protection. Well, he did, but he had his own method.
He smoked Carlton cigarettes at the time (because he thought they were the healthy brand of cigarettes). Wait, why did I start talking about cigarettes and what does this have to do with this story?
In the Army he learned an ear protection “hack.” I suppose they wouldn’t have called it a hack back then. They would’ve just called it ear protection.
My father would break off the filters (the ends) of his cigarettes and have us stick the filters in our ears. It actually kind of worked. It muffled the sounds of the guns. We must’ve looked ridiculous. If I smoked today, I’d do the same for my cats on the 4th of July.
I do realize that you can buy ear protection at any reputable Walmart, but back then cigarettes were like five cents each. Now his ad hoc ear protectors would cost eight dollars a cigarette or thereabouts.
The Strange Cub Scout Experience
One day, out of the blue, we were on a bus to a Cub Scout Camp in Northern Wisconsin. Real Northern Wisconsin. I have no idea how I got signed up for that madness.
As you can imagine, this type of thing was a bit much for me.
When we got to the Cub Scout Camp, we got our marching orders. I was going to learn… rifle shootin’.
We must’ve been around twelve years old, at this weird rustic Cub Scout camp in the middle of nowhere Wisconsin, and we were issued our rifles.
Bolt action, single shot .22 rifles. That’s a small caliber rifle. The bullets are tiny.
And we proceeded to be screamed at by a “Scout Master” who must’ve thought he was the drill instructor from Full Metal Jacket.
At that time I preferred pistols, so the whole thing was disconcerting. I’d never shot a bolt action rifle before. My hands were shaking and sweating. The drill instructor screamed at us. I dropped the bullet.
After we were done shooting these rifles that must’ve been produced in the 1890s, we were off to swimming! In a lake! Another thing that was incredibly disturbing to me at the time and still is, but that’s a story for another day.
Becoming A Sharpshooter
After YEARS of practicing shooting, I got pretty good with a pistol AND a rifle. When we were 16, we’d grab our bag of guns and head out to the range, unsupervised.
By the time I graduated from High School, I knew how to hit a target dead center from fifty yards away.
After being rejected by the Army because I had a “heart murmur” and a few other disqualifying ailments, I drifted away from shooting and moved to Minneapolis where the only shooting was done by the cops and robbers.
Now, I’m back in a rural part of the country where I never go shooting. I sometimes hear the occasional shot out in the woods. Sometimes it’s an elk hunter… sometimes it’s something else.
But I ALWAYS jump and have to do my conscious breathing exercises after hearing a gunshot today.
Me And Guns - FAQ
Do I STILL shoot guns today?
No.
I haven’t shot a gun in 20 years. I’m even more highly sensitive than when I was a 12 year old. I’d probably develop a migraine.
Do I still HAVE a gun?
Yes.
Why, you gun-toting psychopath?
It was bequeathed to me. It was one of my father’s guns. The same one he first trained us with.
It sits there waiting for the Russians to invade.
I guess.
BTW - I use the term “trained” in shooting very loosely. We also shot at watermelons.
JK. I just made that up.
Popeye The Sailorman
I shot a gun probably forty years ago. In the Sonoran Desert in Arizona. It was a huge pistol. Reminded me of the gun The Lone Ranger used. I have a feeling I’ve lost most of you as you are too young to remember. It was a western show on Saturday mornings in the mid fifties.
My point is this was huge. Bullets were in the chamber, and I was told to aim and shoot. The kickback almost knocked me over. The end of my gun experience. I prefer mace.
Adam, your story was delightful. I would not have a rifle in my house even if it was a heirloom.
Love the self deprecating humor! I was never a shooter even though I am a Kansas farm boy. When my own boys were about 12 or so I wanted them to be conversant with firearms. We “trained.” They caught the bug. Both went US army. Thanks for the post!