As child I remember being given all of the sport shooting clays at the gun range that had cracks or busted pieces. In every box there was likely a few that they would not load into the clay pigeon thrower machine. I was not old enough to go out to the firing line to go clay shooting with my mom and dad. I stayed back with my grandmother, and dad would bring me home the clays. At first I played with the intact ones pretending they were flying saucers, and I would defend the earth with my military and destroy the alien warships. It was fun as the shooting clays would shatter into small pieces of clay so easily.
There is probably still a pile of clay pieces in the garden area at my parent’s house from me playing with those clay pigeons growing up. When I got old enough, my dad took me to get professional shooting instruction on how to shoot a shotgun. Then I was shown a way to really have fun with clay pigeons when I first went clay shooting. It took a bit of time, but when I hit my first clay in the air, I was hooked. I got it right in the middle and it flew apart. It was much more dramatic than when I used to pretend that the sporting clays were flying saucers as a child. It was more of what I imagined in my head as a child of the enemy aircraft coming apart in the sky.
It became a mix of childhood imagination kind of coming true along with the real sport of handling 12 gauge shotguns to shoot moving targets. I could not get enough of it from the first hit I got with a sporting clay. Now I bring home sporting clays for our son to play with out back in the garden area as he digs in the dirt and imagines worlds he creates in his head.