Pockie called me Annie Oakley...

My Pockie (for those of you not in my family-that's my mom's dad, my grandad) first allowed me to shoot a gun the summer I was 11. He had brought out an old .22 rifle to show my younger brother and cousin how to shoot. I decided that I wanted to do it after watching them a couple of times.

So, I drew up my backstop (cardboard box) and placed my Coke can in front of it. Pockie explained how the iron sights worked to me, and how to hold it properly. So I drew up the rifle and shot. *ping* And I saw the can move a bit. I hit it. My uncle announces "Beginner's Luck! There is no way she'll get them all..." HA! 9 more shots, 9 more hits in the can.

With the next 10 bullets, I learned how to make a can dance. That was cool. Pockie started calling me Annie Oakley that day, which just made me giggle really. But every time I would go out to his farm, I would make sure we had bullets so I could shoot a little--even through high school.

My ex grew up out in extreme western Kansas, I wasn't at all surprised that he and all his friends (and I mean every single one) had hunting rifles. I had known plenty of boys here that had rifles or shotguns, so I didn't think too much about it.

We got married and moved out into the country. I really don't know when it happened... but pretty soon we had 18 guns of various styles, calibers, and sizes under our roof. I hated it. HATED IT. I mean--shotgun, ok. Deer rifle--sure. Pistol--ehhh, yeaa, ok. But 18 was too many. waaaay too many for someone that had a short temper.

At some point, he was able to obtain a Federal Firearms License for Collectible guns. I really didn't like that because of his other extra-curricular activities. My anxiety levels were off the charts. Then he got a concealed carry permit. *sigh*

The only way I felt at all comfortable was to learn how to load and shoot each one of the guns. So I eventually did shoot every gun at least once, and was proficient on every pistol we owned. In fact, I was an incredible shot with most of the guns we owned, out-shooting our friends that would come over for target practice.

Ex got hooked up with one of the gun clubs around here and decided to go compete at one of the local competitions one night. He won. He was the fastest and most accurate shot that night, and he had an extra clip change over everyone else. The club is full of area cops and military, and he out shot them all. This is not pride for my (ex)husband speaking, this is to re-iterate that he was the best shot in the county. Quite frankly, I was super scared after that. He came home, bragging and boasting about how he out-shot everyone and had the paper to prove it... yikes. I just... I was scared. Really scared. He went out to club meetings pretty regularly after that. I hated it all.

During the most horrendous part of our fighting, he did make threats. Once I got out the door and in my own place, it earned him a Temporary Restraining Order. He busted the TRO several times, but was never properly caught in the act. At one point, I had to ask one of my very good friends to check on me if he didn't hear from me for a determined amount of time. I also had to have an very difficult conversation with my brother about he and his wife taking care of my children if something were to happen to me. Everyone needs to have that conversation if they have children, but this one had a different urgency to it. Things have since calmed down to the point where I don't think I am in that type of danger any longer, but I do not let my guard down when I don't know where he is or what he is doing. It's all a part of my new life, I guess.

I found out today he is shooting in regular competitions now. He even has a sponsor. And I'm kinda freaked again. More in the "Damn, I really need to get that gun I was talking about..." way. I do not want to have to have one in the house. I am a tough girl and take him down to the ground if I need to... but I'm not bulletproof.

I don't know what to do. I just needed to get this out there I guess. God, I want to run away!!