The Blind Marksman

There are few accommodations I request or require to get by, but when you can’t drive, a chunk of the American world is closed to you. The remainder of my limitations are far more subtle.

You probably want to know what I have.

I had cataracts removed when I was young, before they were putting in artificial replacements for children. My points of focus are the ones dictated by my glasses. I can’t drive. I can barely read a street sign when standing under it. For reading, my glasses are necessary but not sufficient. And then there are more complications which I may elaborate upon as they come up.

Psychology tells us that the slightest suggestion will cause us to react differently, taking a cue to judge the preceding events and color our decisions. I prefer it to go unsaid. I’ve always preferred to have people know me before they presumed to, by knowing something about me. Those who don’t know will eventually notice, and those who do, eventually forget. I hope that they will overlook or perhaps not notice the subtle cues I miss, the reactions I don’t exhibit. I know that there is a great, and exceedingly subtle loss. I know that when I communicate with people face-to-face, my handicap is not insignificant. Neither I nor they will be able to recognize the full impact.

Things are a little easier at the range. There are a lot of target acquisition options for both pistols and rifles. We’re playing around with the spotting scope or webcam. I can see the paper targets, but not the holes made in them. Once we solve that problem, a trivial matter of equipment, I’ll have the feedback to allow me to dial it in.

It’s a bit of a wonder that I own any guns at all. My first experiences weren’t that great.

My husband had long owned a rifle. One of those .10/22 plinkers that are easygoing and cheap to shoot. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t ideal. I had some issue with the scope and my arms would tire as I tried to figure it out. And disconcertingly to a new user, the shells ejected to the right while I was using my left eye. I could understand people enjoying it, but I found it overall pretty uncomfortable.

Eventually my husband wanted to buy a pistol for practice. I went along to the gun show but didn’t have a whole lot of interest. I didn’t anticipate being involved. They looked mostly the same to me, and I wouldn’t have a clue what mattered. He picked up something at a great price.

Unfortunately, I absolutely hated it.

The grip was way too long so I could barely reach the trigger. My stubby little thumb couldn’t reach any of the controls. I thought I hated the “1911 style” (turned out I was totally wrong!). It was so completely unusable to me that I despaired. Really… I didn’t think I was THAT small.

Not a great start to a hobby.

Finally admitting defeat on this particular weapon, I was assured that there actually were options. We just had to find something that worked.

At that point, I wasn’t convinced that I wanted to bother, but we ended up going to a couple parties with guns and the appeal grew. I felt a bit left out and intimidated, and that was just not going to do.

We visited gun shops and gun shows. We tried out different models at the local range. I found that some modes were of appropriate size. I’m a serious shopper and I hate to be disappointed by my purchases. It took me months to figure out what I was looking for and make a decision. Years later, I enjoy the feel of them and how well they operate. I enjoy looking upon them and admiring them. Like a tailored suit, it’s nice to have something that fits and just feels right.