Goals are Moving Targets

"Three tries for a dollar," shouted the midway huckster above the din of the crowd. "Shoot a duck and win this giant gorilla." The stuffed animal had an affable sneer; it was cute.

I eyed the yellow plastic ducks as they swam across the plywood ocean at the back of the booth. Each little target was about two inches square, advancing over the waves; each was followed by another. There were rows of them swimming back and forth.

I held up an air gun, and sighted down the barrel. It looked like it should shoot straight to me. Even if it didn't, I had three shots to use before I had blown my last dollar.

So, I dug deep into the front pocket of my Levi's and pulled out the crumpled bill. It barely hit the counter before the man with greasy hair and no front teeth snatched it up.

"Watch the kid win the gorilla. Three tries for a dollar. Step right up," he bellowed. Sweat was dripping down his tattooed chest and soaking his sleeveless, button-less, button-down shirt. "Go ahead, kid."

I raised the gun, and stroked it. I willed it to find its mark.

I sighted down the barrel and followed a duck across its path. It seemed to bob more than the one behind it, so I switched targets. Slowly, I pulled the trigger.

The shot wasn't even close. It was too high, about three inches I guessed. "OK, kid, a little off. Come on, try again." He lit a cigarette and flicked the match on the ground. "Step right up."

I knew it was the gun. It didn't shoot as straight as I thought. But I had allowed for that. I still had two more shots.

I sighted down the barrel once more and found another duck. This time I dropped my aim three inches below it. I followed it as it bobbed along, and squeezed the trigger.

This time the shot hit the wave crest behind the duck. Immediately, I knew what I did wrong. By the time I pulled the trigger and the shot reached the target, the duck had paddled by.

The carny kept barking. "Step right up. Three shots for a buck." I only had one more shot.

Now I had to compensate for both the aim of the gun and the motion of the duck. I aimed three inches down, and a couple inches in front of a target.

Sweat trickled down my forehead. I exhaled and squeezed.

Whamo! That plastic duck shattered into oblivion. "See how easy it is!" shouted the sleaze. "Step right up and try it yourself. Just one dollar gets you three shots."

I had successfully hit the moving target and won the gorilla. 'Fait accompli' as they would say in my French class.

Unfortunately, that gorilla must have been stuffed with moldy sawdust. It smelled like a real gorilla, I decided. I threw it away, and then walked home.

By now, it has occurred to me that everything I strive for is a moving target. I always have to adjust my aim to compensate for the movement of the target and the error of the shot. Sometimes, however, my successes don't bring the rewards that I expect. Maybe my goals aren't even worth the effort.