So I had my dear, saintly mother visiting for a few days over Thanksgiving. And naturally, I had to take her shopping on the day after...you know, that "Black Friday" day, which is apparently named for it's resemblance to the panic and mob action that was so typical during the Black Death plagues in Britain back in the old days.
Anyway, since we were out, I stopped at the range to exercise my 1911A1. I put a bag of ammo downrange, and being the good son, I handed it to my dear, saintly mother--the one who was once avowedly anti-gun (she tolerates them nowadays) and gave her a bit of elementary coaching which resulted in her bagging a trophy-quality paper plate.Look--four hits. Way to go, Mom!
Actually, since I was paying close attention to her gun-handling, I have no idea where the other rounds went. But hearing no screaming from the adjoining ranges or the parking area, I'm assuming that they at least hit the berm somewhere. She's not exactly Annie Oakley yet, but she's at least safe. Notice that she knows to keep her fingers off the trigger.
Hey--it's a start.