A Matter Of Pride*

*alternate title: A New Hobby

Look up the word 'pride.' It has many definitions. Some of them are somewhat negative. Pride is even a deadly sin. But one can have pride in the actions of another...

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A few Saturdays ago, The Wifey, The Little Girl, and I all loaded up and went to the elementary school for a Renaissance Fair the school was holding. It was a neat little carnival, with huge inflatable slides and bounces, food and drink, and lots of little carny games for the kiddies. We were there for quite some time, and fun was had by all. The Little Girl got her face painted and got one of those little ribbon things for her hair.

When we made our way to the games, I saw something I would never have expected to see at a public school anywhere in the United States: an archery range. Small, but a real range. Like with real bows and real friggin arrows. It only took asking my daughter once. She was excited.

The guys running it were running a good, safe range. If someone was downrange, bows were down and all arrows were on the ground. They were helpful to the little kiddies, and very encouraging to all comers. When it was our turn, a man handed us a small wrist guard and said we were next. I helped The Little Girl get her guard on, and we followed our host to our lane. Our hay bales were at about five yards, and were painted with a bull's eye, an inner ring, and an outer ring. They handed The Little Girl a small compound bow (!!!) and were ready to get her all set up when the man asked me if I'd like to help her instead. With a huge grin and a glow, I happily accepted his offer as he handed me three arrows.

We set up at the firing line, and I quickly showed her how everything worked. Then I told her to pull the bowstring back and hold it for a second to get a feel for it, then return it to rest without dry-firing it. When she was comforable with it, I showed her how to nock an arrow, and told her that, once she drew the arrow back, to look down the shaft and aim it like a gun (yes, she can aim well:). She pulled the string back, and I stepped aside and let her have the moment.

It was a long moment. She held the string back long enough for the guy at the range to comment ("Man, she can hold that thing back forever! She's strong for a kid that young!"). She was smiling, but very serious as she adjusted her windage and elevation searching for the right moment to loose. I didn't rush her; I only reminded her that when she was ready just to let go. Finally, she found her aim and got very still.

I belive that, for a moment, Mother Earth gave pause to her rotation. The wind calmed, silence fell over us, and all the world was right. I watched patiently when, in slow motion, she opened her hand. The missile took flight, and for the first time my daughter fired an arrow from the bow! Before I had a chance to celebrate her getting it right, I was corrected on just how right she was. I followed the arrow through its flight, and believed with every fiber of my being that the result was real: she had a hit dead in the center of the inner ring, just below the bull's eye. The small crowd that was watching erupted in a cheer.

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My eyes are welling as I type this.

Immense pride in oneself is bad. The same level of pride in another, however, is good. Great, even, especially when it's for a child. My little girl is a bona-fide shooter. I cannot wait until her next birthday when she finally gets her pink Crickett rifle, but for now we may have to invest in a new hobby.

Daddy's proud of you, Sweet Pea. I love you very, very much.



tweaker