Trigger Warning: This Liberal Loves Guns

Kale Smoothie Meets Beef Jerky

I never thought I’d be at a gun show, but here I was. My little Subaru (with its “coexist” bumper sticker) looked very out of place between a monster truck sporting a “Cold Dead Hands” decal and another boasting “I Don’t Dial 911”. I took a deep breath, ditched my oat milk smoothie in the car, and walked in.

Inside was sensory overload: metal everywhere, country-rock music blaring, and camo everywhere. Booths stretched out in every direction with firearms of every kind. I even swapped my tie-dye shirt for a plain flannel to blend in, but I still felt like a tofu burger at a Texas barbecue.

My “when in Rome” moment came at a snack stand offering free beef jerky samples. Normally I’d be hunting for a vegan treat, but I bravely chewed a piece, silently apologizing to the kale salad in my fridge. It was tasty – smoky and spicy enough to make my eyes water. “Good, huh?” the vendor grinned. I nodded, trying not to cough. Who knew beef jerky instead of oat milk would be my gateway into gun culture?

As I wandered the aisles, I passed bumper stickers saying “Peace Through Superior Firepower” and T-shirts bragging about “liberal tears.” (Oh boy.) I hurried past those, drawn instead to a display of beautifully engraved antique rifles. The older gentleman behind the table beamed as I admired his collection, eagerly sharing the history of his favorite piece. For that moment, politics didn’t matter – we were just two people geeking out over a well-crafted rifle.

By the end of the gun show, I was overwhelmed yet pleasantly surprised. The jerky vendor waved goodbye like we were old pals, and the rifle collector nodded farewell. I even left with a bag of teriyaki jerky and a weird sense of camaraderie. My Subaru was still the odd duck in the lot, but I felt a little less like one myself. Next stop: the shooting range.

Namaste at the Gun Range

A week later, I found myself at the local shooting range. At the entrance, a stern camo-clad officer named Dave eyed me. On reflex I blurted a nervous “Namaste.” He raised an eyebrow. “Uh, hi, first time here,” I mumbled. He chuckled and handed me ear protectors and safety glasses. Note to self: drop the yoga greetings.

Inside, even through earmuffs, each BANG was jarring. I stepped up to my lane, took a deep breath, and squeezed the trigger on my rented handgun. The recoil nearly made me stumble, but I hit the paper target (somewhere on the edge). Adrenaline surged through me and a goofy grin spread across my face. To my right, a woman decked in tactical gear gave me a thumbs-up. I grinned back — awkward greeting forgotten.

As I kept shooting, my shots clustered closer together – apparently I was improving. Around me, people focused on their targets, from tactical pros to a dad teaching his teenager. There was a quiet camaraderie in the air. Between shots, I noticed my breathing had steadied and my mind was strangely clear. Target practice was oddly zen once you got past the noise.

Later, I told Dave I was a total newbie and, well, not the typical gun guy. He laughed. “We get all types here,” he said, adjusting my grip. “Doesn’t matter who you voted for, just keep the muzzle downrange.” With his tip, I nailed a bullseye on my next try. I nearly jumped for joy on the spot.

I left the range smelling of gunpowder and beaming with pride. In the parking lot, my coexist-stickered Subaru sat unscathed among the pickups. I tossed my bullet-riddled target in the backseat as a trophy and drove home buzzing with newfound excitement.

Embracing the Contradiction

Back home, I pinned my bullet-riddled paper target on the wall like modern art. My friends were equal parts baffled and amused by my new hobby. Their reactions were priceless:

• One friend nearly dropped her oat milk latte.
• Another sniffed me for gunpowder, convinced I was possessed by Charlton Heston.
• My vegan buddy sighed and asked if I’d start hunting for kale-fed venison.

I get it – even I never expected to become a regular at the shooting range. But I’m still me – volunteering at the community garden, wearing my “Give Peas a Chance” shirt, and pushing for sensible gun laws as always. I’m as liberal and tree-hugging as ever – just with a surprising new weekend activity.

Embracing this odd contradiction actually feels liberating. A few pals have even warmed up to it. And at the range, I’m no longer “the liberal guy” – I’m just Sam, the dude who says “oops” when he drops a magazine but still hits the target and fist-bumps afterward.

This journey taught me that people are more than labels. I haven’t changed my core values; I’ve just added a new layer. I’m still a peace-loving liberal – and now I’m also a proud member of the range punch card club.