Article Contributed on: 12/7/2006 10:04:34 AM
The day after Thanksgiving, my dad and I took our .45s, and headed to the pistol range at Cherry Creek State Park. He was looking to break in his shiny new Springfield Armory WW2 GI model 1911, and I was simply there for the chance to put some more rounds through my Kimber Classic Custom (also a 1911 derivative). Just a few weeks earlier, my brothers, nephews and I travelled to the Pawnee National Grasslands, and expressed our Second Amendment Rights toward all manner of targets, using everything from handguns to 12ga shotguns (and, to top it all off, we left the area cleaner than we found it. C'mon, people, clean up after yourselves; don't trash the National Grasslands!).
In the subsequent days, I had a great many discussions with friends and family on everything from NFL football, to martial arts, to mountain climbing and hiking.
I could actually feel my beard growing more rapidly beneath the skin of my face. My voice dropped at least two whole octaves. I began to respond to inquiries with a series of monosyllabic grunts and chirps.
Pay these things no mind.
Those days are past for me now, for I have done the unthinkable. I have purchased a minivan. Willingly.
Yep. I'm no longer the owner of a lovely Nissan Pathfinder 4x4, with big ol' Bridgestone Dueler Revo tires, skid plates, and a limited slip differential. Now, I sit behind the wheel of a Nissan Quest, enamored with its in-car video system, and car-like ride. What's become of me?
To make matters worse, I can't help bragging about the van's many convenience features to my male friends, who look on in shock and disgust (well, those who don't
already have a minivan do, anyway. The rest merely nod knowingly). Can manicures and facials be far behind? Well, yeah...they can, but still. A
minivan.
My shame knows no bounds.