Did you ever work at something for a really, really, really long time without ever seeming to make any progress on it, yet you kept plugging away at it – working at it from different angles, from the same angles, from right and left angles, even from a really obtuse angle once, but only because it looked acute after a couple of drinks – all in the desperate, pathetic hope that eventually you’d make some headway despite the lack of any physical evidence to suggest that headway was even possible and all the while attempting to resist the darkness creeping stealthily toward you… the growing suspicion the last 20 years of your life were spent sowing a veritable garden of crushed optimism and broken dreams?
Seriously, it can’t just be me.
Whatever. Look, I’m here to tell you that perseverance is not just a minimum 19-point word in Scrabble. No, my friends, perseverance is what makes the impossible possible. Perseverance kept Noah building the ark for somewhere between 50 and 120 years, and all before the advent of the Weather Channel. Perseverance is what kept China building a wall for about 2000 years without a single Home Depot to be found nearby.
And perseverance is what kept one Canadian girl hounding her father to take his daughter shooting for 20 freakin’ years. Until he finally did. Finally.
And while I was horrible at skeet shooting, I turned out to be pretty good at target shooting.
According to my dad, if I was a hunter, the deer would be dead five times over. According to Jepeto, our chances of surviving the zombie apocalypse just got five times better.
When I first started bugging my ultra old-fashioned Greek father to take me shooting twenty years ago, it wasn’t really because I was interested in shooting or guns. Truth be told, I wasn’t interested in them at all but I really wanted to break the stereotype in my dad’s mind that some activities were just not ladylike. Not to mention the belief that real ladies wouldn’t want to do things like shoot guns or watch football or smoke cigars or drive fast cars or drive faster women… but I may have digressed.
I wasn’t interested in guns because I was a young, energetic, socialist, peace-loving Canadian mother of one and early childhood educator wondering why we can’t all just get along. Obviously, I’ve changed in the 20 years it took to wear my dad down.
Now I’m an old, tired, antisocial, cheese-loving Canadian mother of three and marketer wondering why everyone can’t just do what the hell I tell them to do. Seriously, why? It wouldn’t kill everyone to do what I say. Just a select few. But the world would be a much better place for it, I swear.
Sigh. It seems I’ve digressed. Again.
Anyway, there was always a part of me that was kind of worried I’d turn into a total redneck if I ever did go shooting.
Seems I was worried for absolutely no reason. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish installing bullhorns and a gun rack on the Tercel.