Most of my family on my Mom's side lives in a rural community so I go up and visit them on Thanksgiving and the 4th of July and whenever the whole clan is getting together for a big celebration or whatnot.
Some of my cousins thought it would be fun to do some skeet shooting out behind a dead great-aunt's old house, so they all went up aways while I hung back and chomped on field peas and biscuits. A little later, birdshot started raining down through the trees so I figured I'd be safer up by the shooting area. My brother and his 5-year-old son decided to walk up to the skeet area with me.
So we get up there and the shooters decide to do a little competition. Each shooter gets 3 skeets and 3 shots. You could blow two shots on one skeet, or hold your shot and hope the next skeet came at a better angle. Shooter's choice.
So one of my cousins steps up. "Pull!" A skeet zipped out from behind a bush. Blam! Miss. "Pull!" Blam! Hit. "Pull!" Blam! Miss.
The next cousin steps up. "Pull!" Blam! Miss. "Pull!" Blam! Miss. "Pull!" Blam! Hit.
Now, these are two guys that grew up in the woods, hunting as a hobby, with a gun in their hand. My brother and I grew up in The Big City. I haven't touched a gun since Boy Scouts. My brother has a handgun but he doesn't get out to the range very often. So the cousins offered to let us give skeet shooting a try. I declined since I didn't have my glasses (looked like a lot of fun, though), but my brother accepted.
"Pull!" Blam! Hit. "Pull!" Blam! Hit. "Pull!" Blam! Hit.
I started laughing. It was classic. But what was better was my brother's explanation to our cousins' inquiries about his shooting skill.
"Out in the woods, you boys shoot for sport. In the city we shoot to stay alive."
