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By Sheila Link, "How long have you been shooting?" I asked12-year-old Dillon after he had completed a round of trap. The boy looked me squarely in the eye and with grave dignity, answered, "Since last Wednesday." He turned to place the .410 break-action shotgun carefully on the table beside several other smoothbores. His hand caressed the Beretta's stock lightly as he said, "This was my Dad's gun."
We were in front of a row of trap fields at the Inland Fish & Game Shooting Facility in Redlands, CA. Despite the blisteringly hot July morning, shooters were lined up at every station on every field, except the one Dillon and his companions were using. That field was being used for lessons. I recalled seeing the small group before, sometimes with another shooter-a young girl. The gentleman doing the teaching took his two students onto the field one at a time. Casually, with great patience and an easy manner, he'd drop a shell into the student's gun and issue some instruction. Either the woman or the boy would then shoulder the gun, call, "Pull!" and fire at the clay bird that flew out of the traphouse. Both students were obviously absorbed by the challenge of trying to hit the flying targets. While one was shooting, the other watched intently. When they gathered at the table in the shade to get more shotshells, or a cold drink, it was easy to see their comfortable camaraderie and enjoyment of this time spent together. Sitting there resting after several rounds of skeet, and watching as the man helped the woman and the boy, I was participating in the action vicariously and remembered introducing my daughter and three sons to shooting. It's always a pleasure to see shooters sharing their knowledge, their experience and especially their love of shooting with a novice. And it's particularly enjoyable to see shooters passing along the tradition of sport shooting to family members. I was charmed, too, as I watched this trio, to see the obvious affection and respect they had for one another.
Dean Lillard welcomed me with a smile and introduced Trish and Dillon. As I shook hands, I told them that I'd like to write about Dean teaching Dillon and Trish to shoot trap. They said they didn't mind and agreed to answer some questions. I took out a notepad and began by asking Trish if she was Dean's daughter. "No," she replied, "I'm his care-giver." She smiled at my surprised expression. Then, because it was Dillon's turn to shoot, Trish waited until the slender youngster followed his grand-dad back onto the trap field before continuing. "I'm also his daughter-in-law," she added. Then, "and Dillon is my son." My head was spinning. If Dean needed a care-giver, how was he able to shoot? Should he be trusted to handle guns safely? I studied him as he guided the boy through mounting the gun, calling for the target and firing. All of his actions were sure, every move he made indicated a lifetime of careful gun handling. My confusion must have been obvious to Trish, who is a confident, intelligent lady. A friendly, out-going person, not at all self-conscious, she described the family situation. "Dean's wife died about three years ago," Trish began, "and, although Dean seemed to be coping reasonably well, he became quite ill. When he wound up in the hospital's Intensive Care Unit, we (the family) learned that he had not been taking his medications regularly. He's diabetic and has a heart condition. From the hospital he was sent into a nursing home. He hated it and so did our whole family.
Dean and Dillon returned to the shaded table. Dillon dropped some of the empty .410 hulls into a container. Then, proudly, he held out a second handful of hulls toward his mother before tossing them into the container, and said, "These were my hits!" Trish complimented him generously as she picked up the Remington1100 she was using, and turned to take her turn at trap shooting. This gave me an opportunity to talk with Dillon. He confided
that he liked living with his grandfather, who he calls "Pepa"-the
closest he could come, when a toddler, to "Grandpa"-and
hearing his stories. Dillon also enjoys baseball, and likes playing
the outfield because it gives him a chance to run a lot. I asked
him what he plans to be when he grows up. "Dillon has always liked guns," Dean told me later, "He has a soft-air gun that he practices with for hours, and he's pretty darned accurate with it."
Dillon does his chores at home willingly and well, especially feeding and caring for Dean's animals, described as a couple of "crazy dogs" and a pair of "crazy cats" as well as chickens and rabbits. Dean figured that teaching him to shoot trap would be a welcome reward for the boy's diligence. When he proposed taking Dillon to the trap range, Trish confided that she'd like the same opportunity. She told Dean she had gone out to the country once, years ago, with friends who set up a portable trap to do some casual claybird shooting. She loved it but hadn't had a chance to shoot again, until Dean's offer. A cousin, Sierra, learned of the shooting lessons and confided that she, too, would like to try shotgunning. On a day when Sierra was on the trap range with her family, I asked her how she liked shooting. "It's awesome," the thirteen-year-old answered, "It's fun and it makes me feel good to know I can do it." She doesn't have the time to join the others often, but is welcome to come along whenever she can. "And that's how I got to be a shotgun instructor," Dean laughed. He's a quiet man, reserved, a courteous, soft-spoken country man who grew up on a small Missouri farm. "At that time," he told me, "a man with a small farm could make a living for his family." Like most farm-bred people, he learned how to plant and harvest crops and care for livestock. Familiarity with mechanics was also a necessity and eventually Dean became a back-hoe operator
Although his son tried his hand at several occupations after he was grown, he found that he preferred operating a backhoe and found it, as his father said, profitable. Now, as Dean had, his son makes his living operating heavy equipment. He's also a shooter, but not so addicted to it as Dean. Dean likes all sorts of shooting. He engaged in interstate Schutsenfest matches for quite a while, but soon discovered that he most enjoys Trap. He's recognized at the local ranges near Yucaipa, where he lives, as a good shooter. Like most shotgunners, he reloads shells. And now that they've discovered that both Trish and Dillon likes bustin' clay-birds, Dean plans to teach Dillon to reload. "He's a bright boy and there's no reason why he shouldn't help loading shotshells," he said. I won't be surprised if Trish learns reloading, too. She enjoys shooting so much that putting her own ammunition together is a natural 'next step'.
It was a smart move when Dean decided to "trap" his family, and introduced his daughter-in-law and his young grandson to the shooting sport he loves. |
Before I walked
over to speak to Dillon, I'd been sitting nearby in the shade
of a big sycamore. Sipping cold water, I watched the boy and
his two companions. It was apparent that the trio consisted of
an experienced shotgunner and a pair of neophytes. The experienced
shooter, I speculated, was probably the woman's father and the
boy's grandfather.
As the boy finished
his turn at the 16-yard line and walked with his instructor back
to the table on which their gun cases, shotshells, and a small
cooler sat, the man noticed me and waved. I waved back and realized
that I recognized him from another gun club. Encouraged, I ambled
over to say hello. 
"We were told
that the only way he could be released to go home was if he had
24-hour care." Trish took a deep breath. "Everyone
in the family was tied to a job, or a commitment of some sort.
We didn't know what to do. Soon I realized that I was the most
likely candidate. I was in a dead-end job with long hours. Its
only redeeming feature was that I could have Dillon there with
me when he got out of school. I thought long and carefully about
accepting the responsibility for my father-in-law's well being
and finally said to myself, I can do that " She smiled,
"So we moved in with Dean, who was in a wheelchair. For
the first few months hospice people helped with his care, but
soon I was on my own. It was a tough adjustment for both Dean
and me."
After Trish and Dillon
moved in, Dean's health began to improve. Soon he was out of
the wheelchair. Then he became well enough to drive, and before
long he was eager to return to the shooting range, to visit with
friends and engage in his favorite pastime, trap shooting. 
When his son was
a teenager, Dean would have the boy unload the backhoe from the
truck so Dean could teach him, in their yard, how to operate
it. The boy was less than enthusiastic but Dean told him, "Listen,
I can't help you learn to be a doctor or a lawyer, or a businessman-but
I can help you learn a skill with which you can make a good living-so
get to work!" 
Before I left the
Lillard family that day, another trap shooter, a friend of Dean's,
came by and he, Dean and a third gunner decided to shoot a round.
Dean asked if Dillon wanted to join them. Dillon grinned in pleasure,
ran to get his .410 and took his place on Station Two. He didn't
go straight that day, but he broke fourteen birds-not bad at
all for a novice with a .410 shotgun. I don't know who looked
most proud and happy-Dean? or Dillon?-or was it Trish? Actually,
all three looked pretty darned pleased. 
