Not too Easy
In our life we grow to experience what comes easy, and what comes hard to us. I enjoyed what came easy to me, such as book work, reading, math, and memory work. You put a tray of items in front of me, took it away a moment later, I could rattle off what had been in front of me. I had "taken a picture" of the tray, and simply read it off. That was easy.
When I started my experience at Moss Lake Camp I encountered Mr. Eddie Lucia, and learned the rudiments of fencing and riflery. He explained how fencing and ballet were cousins in the world of sports, and I found it fun to learn. Riflery was a total different animal. It was a real challenge.
"Close your left eye, put the rifle up to your cheek, and squeeze the trigger," he instructed.
I was unable to follow these simple(to others) instructions. He was interested in my confusion. I arose from the prone position, from which we beginners started.
"Close your eye," he instructed. Both eyes closed.
"No, just ONE."
My right eye closed totally.
"Oh," he said. "Now, close JUST the other one." I could not.
"You have a left master eye, even though you are right handed. You either shoot with the left hand, or we have to patch your left eye. Let's first try to shoot with the left side."
My first attempts to shoot left sided were a miserable failure. I don't think I hit the target once. Everyone else was making progress, while I was hindering the efforts of the Olympic coach, hired to assist the talented and the gifted.
"We will get you a patch," were his last words.
The following practice he worked with me getting me to wear the patch, but I kept sneaking peaks on the edge where it did not cover. I did not get the idea of following the sight to where the target was, so again I did not hit the target.
It was a frustrating time, going to riflery each week, but after a month I did hit that little white paper with black circles on it. I earned a beginning level riflery award, which meant more to me than any other award I had. It had just been such a struggle, and when some activity is so hard for you, it is not easy picking it up and finding enjoyment in doing it.
I never picked up a rifle again.
Somehow I don't like to shoot.
When I started my experience at Moss Lake Camp I encountered Mr. Eddie Lucia, and learned the rudiments of fencing and riflery. He explained how fencing and ballet were cousins in the world of sports, and I found it fun to learn. Riflery was a total different animal. It was a real challenge.
 |
| Eddie Lucia Sr. |
"Close your left eye, put the rifle up to your cheek, and squeeze the trigger," he instructed.
I was unable to follow these simple(to others) instructions. He was interested in my confusion. I arose from the prone position, from which we beginners started.
"Close your eye," he instructed. Both eyes closed.
"No, just ONE."
My right eye closed totally.
"Oh," he said. "Now, close JUST the other one." I could not.
"You have a left master eye, even though you are right handed. You either shoot with the left hand, or we have to patch your left eye. Let's first try to shoot with the left side."
My first attempts to shoot left sided were a miserable failure. I don't think I hit the target once. Everyone else was making progress, while I was hindering the efforts of the Olympic coach, hired to assist the talented and the gifted.
"We will get you a patch," were his last words.
The following practice he worked with me getting me to wear the patch, but I kept sneaking peaks on the edge where it did not cover. I did not get the idea of following the sight to where the target was, so again I did not hit the target.
It was a frustrating time, going to riflery each week, but after a month I did hit that little white paper with black circles on it. I earned a beginning level riflery award, which meant more to me than any other award I had. It had just been such a struggle, and when some activity is so hard for you, it is not easy picking it up and finding enjoyment in doing it.
I never picked up a rifle again.
Somehow I don't like to shoot.
Comments
Post a Comment