Wednesday, April 16, 2008


Many years ago, when I was a teenager, my granddad was teaching me how to aim and hit with a gun. Don't get me wrong, he just told me how to do it, he didn't actually showed me. He was after all a soldier in the II. WW. Peaceful person as he is, he was always telling us that he had aimed above the heads of the 'enemy' when he was on the Russian front. He was called up the German army while working in Austria as a baker. He suffered a lot but he never told us the details. He always says that it was too terrible to share the memories.

I was always a good shooter, trying to do it the 'Indian' way. Making bows and arrows, walking quietly in the woods, sewing myself clothes of leather... At school I was the best shot of all. I followed the directions of my granddad. It always worked.Yesterday I managed to slip in my day an hour of reading. In the book I mentioned on Monday (Three Day Road by Joseph Boyden) I stopped reading at the sentence that brought back the memories of my youth and words of my granddad. They exactly describe the way I have been taught how to shoot. Well, with a little addition - I was taught to count up to four after exhaling and then shoot.

By the way, I like the book very much. I had it in my hands several times while being in our library and last week I finally decided to borrow it. I am certainly not sorry. Until now.

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