I was working range duty at OGC, yesterday, and saw the usual mix. First-time shooter who couldn't look over her shoulder without muzzle-sweeping the line, experience shooter who had a new tactical light hanging off his Picatinny rail, that after half-a-mag came off and hit the concrete with a crack - and who safed his gun, laid it carefully on the table, then knelt down to find out what happened to his expensive toy.

Driving home, tonight, I had occasion to turn and look behind me, and I was struck by the similarity of the movement, turning to look behind while driving, without turning the wheel, and turning to look behind while shooting without swinging the gun off-target.

And that got me thinking about a story my mother has made a point of telling every one of the grandkids, when they got old enough to drive and to have friends who could drive.

A couple of my sister's friends, and a couple of other girls, juniors and seniors in High School, were driving down a rural road at speed. Some bastard in a car in front of them flicked a lit cigarette butt out the window, and it came in theirs. There was much screaming and waving of arms. In the process, the driver let the car slide out of their lane, putting two wheels on the shoulder. The driver made a panic turn to get back onto the pavement, and rolled the car.

If the driver had lived, I'd have never told her that it was her fault, rather than the fault of the bastard who flicked the cigarette. But it was.

Similarly, if you'd been out to a family BBQ out in the country, and you and some others set up an informal shooting range against a safe hillside, and your damned-fool cousin decided it would be funny to spray your back with cold beer, I'd never tell you that it was your fault, rather than your idiot cousin, if you'd spun around quickly, stumbled in a gopher hole, and put a round through your four-year-old nephew. But that's simply a matter of politeness.

She was holding the wheel, you would have been holding the gun.

The responsibility sits in only one place.

If you're driving, and a bee comes in the window, you have an obligation to your family. your loved ones, and most especially to your passengers. Steer the car to a safe stop, and then have your panic reaction, no matter how many times you get stung. If you're at the firing line and a casing goes down your shirt, put the gun on safe, set it on the table, and then do your "ooch-ouch-hot" dance. And yes, that does mean you're going to get burned worse than you would have, otherwise.

You can control your instinctive reactions, and you have an obligation to do so to everyone around you if you get behind the wheel or pick up a gun. If you aren't willing to assume that obligation, don't drive, and don't shoot,

So, anyway, I was thinking that if I were still teaching, this rant might be editable down into a teachable anecdote. But I'm not teaching, so I'll just throw it out there as a topic of conversation.

PLEASE edit that down and submit it to the Bullet-in. It's the bones of a great story that will get people thinking. Paul B.

+1

EXCELLENT post!

The above segment reminds me of my P7 brass down the shirt episode a few weeks ago. Yes, I purposely concentrated on keeping it down range and finger off the trigger before I reached for clothing. Yes, it hurt.

-Mark

Well, there was that lit cigarette in my crotch when I was going 80 down an interstate... Then, there was a piece of 7.62 Tokarev brass that bounced off the ceiling and fell behind the lens of my glasses. That actually made my vision blurry for a couple of days. Or the piece of .45 brass that did the same and left a visible burn. That last one was at BPR, folks there learned some new words that day. It takes some effort to stay focused, but it's not impossible.

Ever think maybe you need better shooting glasses or a baseball cap?

I have a baseball cap, but those were occasions where I forgot it and really didn't want to drive all the way back from the range.