As I posted earlier, I went this morning to a range not far from where I live to get some pistol time and rounds downrange. Dear God, shooting is indeed a perishable skill. I sucked the big vacuum of shooting.
But then I met E.Z. (Close enough for now), a college student, novice shooter who was kind enough to allow me to instruct him on a few points which he took like toddler to candy.
He is the son of an Ethiopian immigrant, and it was almost at the end of the session that it struck me: In a range a top of a hill in the middle of nowhere TN, a Venezuelan immigrant was instructing the son of an Ethiopian the fine points of gun marksmanship.
If that does not scream Freedom and God Bless America, I don’t know what else could be.
PS: I need to reload a bunch of more 9mm.
What say we gather up a couple of dozen illegals and trade them for two more legal immigrants like these two? (speaking of E. Z.’s dad and our De Lux pamphleteer.)
Brings to mind a scene from Silicon Valley, before the dot-com bubble (1.0) destroyed it.
I was working for a small company. It got to be lunch time, and the roach coach arrived.
Out at the truck, two of our engineers (an Israeli and a Turk) were explaining to a visiting engineer (just arrived from Korea) about the variety of Mexican food available from the Vietnamese lunch truck.
(Apparently Mexican food wasn’t a thing in Korea, but our visitor decided he liked it.)