My father is over 80 years old, and his physical decline literally forces him to his knees. However, his mind remains sharp, and his memory is still legendary. He’s a fighter and a tinkerer. Despite his physical limitations, he maintains a large vegetable garden, where he grows seedlings from seeds in the spring. Although he can neither bend down nor kneel, this doesn’t stop him from working in the garden. Instead of kneeling, he tends to it lying down. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

Unfortunately, he’s also an avid collector—though not a hoarder. Everything he keeps (and it’s a lot) is neatly organized, and he can find anything within a short time. He often recalls exactly where and when he bought or received each item, even if it was decades ago. He hoards anything that might one day prove useful.

Among his possessions are two pistols, for which he holds a firearm license. Over coffee this summer, he told me that he plans to bequeath the weapons to me after his death, with the wish that I keep them as a sort of memento. My father has never been a gun enthusiast. I remember shooting with him as a child. He was the one who taught me to shoot with an air rifle. I had never hit a target at school, until he figured out that, although I’m right-handed, I can’t close my left eye. He tied a cloth over my left eye, and suddenly, I was able to achieve decent results. That was many years ago.

Since my youth, I haven’t fired a gun. Yet there was a large rifle in our basement (like all Swiss men of military age had), which I moved from one corner to another once a year during the annual basement cleaning. When my father expressed his wish to pass his two old pistols on to me one day—hopefully far in the future—I started to think about what that would actually mean. I quickly realized that it would be a problematic gift because owning such firearms without a license isn’t legal. I’m not afraid of guns, but I have great respect for them. A firearms license involves—depending on the country—a review to determine if one is “capable” or “worthy” of owning a gun. I’m confident I could pass such a test. However, I also felt a strong need to truly master the pistols, not just own them as a formality.

That’s why, on Monday, I took my first shooting lesson at the Bysice shooting range. It was cold and foggy, typical for early December. I was fortunate to have a great instructor named Monika. Patient, motivating, consistent, and experienced—qualities every teacher should have, and she has plenty of them despite her young age.

Where do you start? With safety, of course. Over and over again, until the movements become second nature: remove the magazine, check the barrel for emptiness, perform a dry fire. And start over again. Never place your finger on the trigger!

Before long, my fingers and hands ached from practicing how to hold and aim the shotgun, how to rack the pistol. After many dry runs and a solid dose of theory, I finally fired my first shots. It’s startling at first, and even with hearing protection, the noise is deafening. The safety rules were repeated and emphasized again and again—at every movement, at every action. Then came the finer points of aiming, which require a great deal of practice.

I now know what to watch out for and how to aim. But I can’t really shoot yet—I only have a rough idea of how it works. Thanks to my father, I’ve started learning something new again. If you’re looking for an incredibly patient instructor, I can highly recommend Monika at her shooting range in Bysice (https://www.strelnicebysice.cz/). Now, I need the first 500 shots to get over the initial shock of firing. After that, we’ll see where things go.