It all began on the back of my grandfather’s old trailer.
On one end of the trailer, my grandfather and I would sit with a BB gun.
On the other, a worn-out cardboard box with a makeshift target.
That box took a beating, and so did the cabinets—each dent telling the story of a shot gone slightly astray.
But to me, those were more than just wayward shots.
They were the first steps in what would become a lifelong passion.
As I grew older, shooting became more than a pastime.
It became part of who I was.
My dad started taking me hunting, and before long, it was clear that handling a rifle came naturally to me.
Yet, it wasn’t until fifth grade that I discovered shooting could be more than just a skill—it could be a sport.
My dad saw potential in me and believed I could take my shooting to a competitive level. That’s when fate stepped in.
Family friends introduced me to precision rifle competitions, and one night, they took me to a practice.
I was just eleven years old, but I remember the moment like it was yesterday.
The sound of the shots, the intense focus, the challenge—it all clicked for me.
From that day on, I was hooked.