Childhood Shooting Memories

[silverbull]

Dose anyone have any shooting memories or stories to share from their childhood?

I’ll start off,

My twin brother and I were 7 or 8 years old or so, we both just got BB Guns for our birthday . Even thought we both wanted 22’s we were happy with BB Guns for our first gun. After Dad went over the basic safety rules (dad’s safety rules were pretty basic back then)

Rule number 1 don’t shoot your brother
Rule number 2 don’t shoot or point at anyone or anyone’s property
Rule number 3 if you’re going to shoot critters, only shoot the wild ones
Rule number 4 you’ll always keep it unloaded when you come into the house (that was mom’s rule)

Well anyway after a hour or two in the back yard shooting pop cans and stuff, dad cuts us loose into the woods to our tree fort, (oh the memories of the tree fort) well on trail out to “our fort” well there was always this old muffler and exhaust pipe, so my brother and I start popping shots at this muffler. Little did I know that BB don’t really punch threw old steel mufflers after about the 3 or 4 shot, bang one comes back and nails my brother right in the eye!

Well little did I know that dad was just 10 or 20 yards behind us running his Jack Russell pack around the river, my brother is holding his eye starts balling and crying. Of course I did not know what just happened. Dad comes running around the corner and wondering what in the heck is going on. Before I could even get a word out my brother looks right at my Dad, and said “He just shot me in the eye” I’m looking at my Dad and that split second instant change of mood in his face I was never so afraid in my life. I really don’t remember to much after that except I just started yelling “it ricocheted it ricocheted Gregory, Gregory tell Dad it ricocheted!” I think Dad heard that because he kind of calmed down and asked my brother if it was a ricochet. Thank the Lord Jesus he said it did! I think it took my mom 3 days of soaking my underwear in bleach to get the brown stain out that I left in them, after I saw that look my Dad gave me when my brother said I shot him.

Of course we got the “lecture of ricochet” and to try and be more careful and a brand new pair of saftey glasses. As the smart ass 8 year old my brother and I were at the time. We looked at Dad and I said something along the lines of “well if you would have got us 22’s it would have punched right through it. Needless to say we both got the “Well since you’re ungrateful for you BB guns I guess you don’t need them anymore” Away went the BB guns’

I remember my brother being pissed at me for a few week at least our birthdays were in June because we had Christmas in July. July 4th Dad had two packages for us, and we both got a single shot Savage bolt action 22's.

At least I can say that is also the closest call me or my brother have every had with a gun.

 

[gbran]

Got lots of childhood shooting memories, but can't remember any mishaps. When I was a teen, myself and a few friends were outside of town hunting birds with shotties. My pal also carried a 9 shot .22 snubbie for snakes. He saw a bird on a powerline some 100+ yards away and jokingly drew and fired. The bird fell from the wire. One in a million luck shot, but that's not the end of the story. When we went to look at the bird, we found it was someone's pet parakeet.

 

[History Nut]

Early memories

My childhood memories are not so much an event as a pattern of happy times. When I was about 5 or 6 and my brother 9 or 10, our father would take us out shooting. The family gun was a Mossberg 151 semi-auto .22LR. Actually it was labeled to take Shorts and Longs too but the LR was the cheapest. On Saturdays in Autumn and Spring, we would load up in the family car. To think that families only had one car in those days! We would stop by a local store that also carried ammunition. I think the proprieter was one of dad's buddies. Dad would buy ONE box of .22LR! We would go out to the old mining areas where there were huge piles of gravel and dirt. My brother, being smarter/older/etc., would figure out how many rounds we each got. It worked out to almost one loading of the magazine each. He usually got the extra round because he would clean the rifle when we got home. Nowadays, I can't imagine going shooting with only 50 rounds of any ammo!

As a footnote, MANY years later, my brother and I arranged to meet at a place in the desert about halfway between our residences. I was camping there and he was driving out for the day. He brought his daughters with him. One was pre-teen and the other just into teenage years. Although his wife didn't like guns, he had raised his daughters around them and taught the girls safety and shooting. We both planned to do some shooting so each had brought several firearms and plenty of ammunition (so we thought!). When we got ready, my brother gave each daughter a .22 semi apiece and a "brick" of 500 rounds of ammo between them to keep them 'busy'. They were popping away in the background as my brother and I conversed and shot our "big guns". It seemed like only ten minutes to us when the youngest walked up and asked my brother: "Dad, have you got any more shells?"! We both stood there in wonder while confirming that she and her sister had fired up 500 rounds in so little time. It might have been 20 minutes but it was still a wonder.

My reason for extending my post so much is that some of my happiest memories from long ago revolve around firearms and shooting. This is especially true regarding my brother. Through all kind of adventures and mishaps our interest and knowledge about firearms and shooting gave us a special closeness. We learned things about responsibility and safety at a young age that served us both well in adulthood. He is gone now but he lives on in his daughters. Both have their own guns and I pity anyone that causes them to use them in self-defense.

If I digress too much, I apologize.

 

[Joey2]

I remember being a hard head in school, read dumb ass, and could'nt learn my multiplication and division tables worth a damn.

My dad mad a deal with me that if I learned them by a certain date, can't remember when, that he would buy me a Red Ryder BB gun.

Sure enough I became a genius and learned them. The following Sat. we walked down town to Haas's Hardware and got me my BB gun. I remember it cost $12.00. This was in 1956(?). I remember sleeping with it for a long time I was so proud.

By the way a few months after I could not remember what 2X2 was.

 

[CajunBass]

I guess my fondest "gun memory" was not having a gun "yet." (Warning. Long and boring I'm sure.)

I was about 13, and Christmas was coming. I'd never had a gun, but had been asking for one for a year or so. Like all kids, I "went prowling" for hidden Christmas presents.

Looking under my parents bed, there was a long box. From Sears and Roebuck. (In those days it was still legal to mail order guns.) I pulled it out, and opened it, and there was a 20 ga. single shot, Ithaca M-66, lever action shotgun. It was the most beautiful gun in the world. I knew it was for me. I was the only boy, and I was pretty sure my sisters wouldn't be getting this.

And it was still four weeks before Christmas. I didn't dare take it out of the box. It was all the courage I could muster, to just pull it out from under the bed and sneak a peak at it. I just KNEW my mother was going to come walking in and catch me.

That Christmas was especially slow coming. I could hear that gun calling me "Wayne...come here....come look at me...don't you want to hold me?"

Finally Christmas morning. But my folks had a rule. The kids didn't get up until THEY got up. OH the agony. I was awake about 8:30. The night before. Sleep? You have to be kidding. Finally the house got quiet and I could sneak down the hall and peak into the living room, and look in. I didn't dare enter. There by the winking lights of the Christmas tree I could see different piles of "stuff." One for each of my sisters, and one for me. But which was which.

There was a noise. Back down the hall, and into bed pretending to sleep. Waiting for the quiet to return. Slowly, one sock clad foot at a time, I snuck back down the hall and peaked in again. Ok, that pile has a doll, and that one has what looks like a dress, but I don't see any long white boxes. Wait. You don't suppose they hid that gun for someone else's kid do you?"

The night sped by with all the speed of an Alaskan glacier. At times the clock ran backwards. I must have dozed off, because suddenly I was aware of voices. One of my sisters wispered..."Is it Christmas yet?" The other one hissed back "NO! NOW BE QUIET."

You Kids get quiet in there, or Christmas ain't coming this year."

"See I told you to be quiet. Now it all YOUR fault we're not going to have any Christmas."

Finally I heard my mom and dad get out of bed, and go down the hall. We kids didn't dare move. Then they called, "Ok. Come on in here."

"Ok, there's the pile with the doll, and yes, that's a dress. Those aren't mine. Where is my pile......Oh. there it is. A new coat. Woopie. And this, and this, and a box of shotgun shells.......WHAT? Box of shotgun shells? OH man, they really do enjoy torture don't they?' "What are these for?"

Look under the sofa my mom said, with a twinkle in her eye." Down on the floor I went, pulling the dust ruffle back, and there was a THE LONG WHITE BOX!..I pulled it out, and just looked at the box, then lifted it up onto the sofa. I just knew this was not a box you ripped open. It had to be done "right" with "respect." This wasn't a kid toy. This was part of the passage to growing up. This was "man" stuff.

I opened the box, and slowly, carefully lifted the gun from the box. It smelled like steel and oil, and was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. My mom took it, (she was the outdoor person, my dad didn't fish or hunt.) and pulled the lever down, and "broke" it. She handed it back to me and asked "Do you know how to shoot it? I noded that I did.

She looked me in the eye and said "This is not a toy. This can and will kill you and anything you point it at. You aren't stupid. You know what's right and what's wrong to point it at. Now. Go shoot it a couple of times and come back in and get something to eat.

I never got dressed so fast in my life. Finding a place to shoot was no problem. Just step out back and look around. I took one of those bright yellow 20 ga shells out of the box, (Federal low base no 6 shot I think.) and slipped it into the barrel and closed it with a snap. Picking out a tree on the edge of the yard, I cocked the hammer, put the bead on the tree, and pulled the trigger.

Noise, recoil, and the most wonderful smell in the world hit me. I broke the gun and pulled the spent shell out of the chamber, and blew the smoke from the barrel. Then I held the empty shell up to my nose and breathed in that wonderful smell of burned powder.

There was a hand on my shoulder. My mother had been there watching me. She said "I ordered you a 410 at first, but when it got here it looked like a BB gun. So I sent it back and got this one. Is it ok? "Is it ok?" It's the most wonderful gun in the world. It's perfect."

I ain't been the same since.

(My son has that gun today.)

 

[kbheiner7]

I mave any wonderful childhood shooting memories.

When I was 6, dad gave me a Red Ryder BB gun and put a $0.05 bounty on grasshoppers in his garden. This kept me busy for several summers thereafter.

I got a Marlin 39A lever action .22 when I was 8 and really enjoyed learning how to stalk cottontails on the brushy draws my father grew up hunting. I gave that little Marlin to my son this past Januaryfor his 9th birthday.

I think my favorite memory though, was my 11th Christmas. I'd been begging my parents for a single shot .410. I felt I was ready for a shotgun and my dad had no problems with it, but my mom was terrified of the idea. I kept pestering and being a good kid, but hope faded as Christmas drew near.

Much to my surprise, on Christas morning there was a brand-spanking new 20 guage Wingmaster Magnum waiting for me along with a couple of boxes of shells. I was positively ecstatic! I'll never forget that moment.

 

[robert garner]

Depression and world war,seemed to make a generation of iron , frugality and
complete non bs!
I will bet few here know what a thump delivered to the head feels like, however
you do know how to shoot a marble? Now instead of using your thumb and first finger,you use your middle finger under the thumb,the blow delivered with the end of the finger to the head,similar to a cue and cue ball!
My Uncle gave me my first rifle,sears lever action single shot, if'n ya see one let me know!
Father took me out after much diagraming ,lectures. laid me on a blanket
and handed me one shell. Which I loaded up and aimed at the mark.
THUMP!
What?
You are canting your rifle.
O! ok; ready, aim
THUMP!!
What?
You are canting your Rifle!
Whats canting?
I will tell ya now i would rather sass my Mom than cant a rifle!
One more thing tho,as i teach my son this year to be all the rifleman his rifle will allow;my thumper will be in my pocket!
robert
Gonna take Dad out to the range too.

 

[dartos]

My dad used to take us "plinking", late 60's early 70's, we'd drive 30-45min. from our home in the San Fernando valley (los Angeles, Charles Manson used to hang out with his"family" at our favorite burger joint), into the hills and shoot at old junk cars, washing machines anything that would make a noise when you hit it, my dad bought a surplus M1 for $50 (I miss those days) we had a great time, even the time my brother shot at at a steel power tower, the 22lr round glanced off the steel and hit me in the arm, didn't penetrate, just stuck on my arm (it did burn a little skin), I was a kid and thought it was cool!
We used to find piles of spent and live blank casings in the hills from TV and movie shoots, we moved to Minnesota after the Manson family murders, earthquakes,immigrants, Etc...
I do have fond memories of when the LAPD would bring a shooting demonstration to our Jr High and high schools every 6 mos or so, they would set up in the Gym and use low power loads in their revolver (they didn't carry autos in those days), I doubt the still put on those demonstrations.

 

[kansas45]

My grandparent's lived in town (I lived on a farm) in the same house that I live in now. A few year's ago a nice policeman stoped by & informed me that I couldn't amuse my self by shooting blackbird's in my back yard with the trusty Daisy! That reminded me (& I informed him) that I started honeing my shooting skills at the tender age of 8 right here in this driveway. My grandfather put a 4'X8' piece of 1/2' steel in the back of the garage. Gave me a 22 single shot rifle a folding lawn chair & an endless supply of 22 short's & lot's of guidance. I spent many fine hour's at the curb fireing into that old garage. The cop wasn't too impressed & I still can't hunt birds & varment's on my little corner of the world. Oh,Well!

 

[sm]

I'm 51 years old.

I had a ball shooting Red Ryder BB guns today.

Or did you want something more earlier?


Like the man says...I didn't grow up - I just got bigger.

 

[Dionysusigma]

I have none. Dad didn't really feel either way about guns that I could tell, but my mom refuses to acknowledge the fact that I keep my guns in her basement (I'm in school). She refused me to even have toy guns growing up. Violent movies? Yup. Violent games? Yup. Power tools? Yup.

Guns? "HOW DARE YOU EVEN THINK TO SUGGEST THAT?!? WHERE DID YOU GET SUCH AN IDEA?!? GUNS ARE DANGEROUS AND ILLEGAL AND ONLY CRIMINALS AND LUNATICS HAVE THEM!!!"

... or something like that. Wasn't until I got to college and I ran into some guy who apparently was from Texas and eventually took me shooting. He ruined my financial life from that day forth. A Marlin 60 here, a brick of .22 there, and before you know it I had four more guns and 22,000 rounds of ammo before the year was done.

Now to enact my revenge... I swear I'll make him drink so much Shiner Bock and stuff him so full of barbecue and Dunhills that he'll pass out. That'll teach 'im.

 

[Dionysusigma]

Double post.

 

[Nhsport]

I was about 8 and had finally talked my parents ino a bb gun. It was a hard sell but finally they went for it based upon the rule that it would stay in their room and I could only shoot with dad. It wasn't even christmass ,possibily a reward for a good report card or something.Dad worked long hours at the family grocery store and this would have involved going to the next town over to buy it (sears ?)
On the day it arrived I was crazy nuts happy but my little 8 year old hopes were crushed when I found out my parents had to go out after dinner to a wake they had found out about last minute.The rare times my folks went out some old aunt or grandmother would sit for my sister and myself. (both grandfathers had passed at this time)
Well I was dragging around the house,it looked like it would be several days before I would have a chance to shoot with my father,several days to a 8yo with a new bb gun was forever!
My aunt Verna shows up to sit and she has Uncle Al with her! Now my uncle Al was a real nice guy but he had crummy health and was a confirmed stay at home type of guy so it was very unusual for him to come over.Except for a Christmass or two I think this was the only time he had come to our house and he lived only 5 miles away. (I didn't know it at the time but most of his health problems were due to getting shot up in North Africa .)
After dinner we spent a couple of hours sitting in the grass against the back of the toolshed shooting at a couple of tin cans. Him giving me pointers on useing the sights and me running back and forth moveing the cans further and further away.
This was the bottom of the line Daisy BB gun that you could pour a whole tube of bbs in and shoot untill your arm got tired of cocking.Thing was a real piece of low powered junk,Uncle Al showed my how to "hold over" for the long shots (any thing over 35' required this!) We of course shot untill it was too dark to see the sights . I never did get to shoot with Uncle Al again but whenever we saw each other (only a couple times a year,usually at Christmass or a 4th of july party) we would both talk about how much fun we had had that warm june night
Funny thing,I must have shot a bunch of times after that with my dad before my parents turned me loose to shoot by myself but I can't hardly remember them,However that night with Uncle Al Is a pretty clear memory !

 

[LoneCoon]

I have a vauge memory of my Father and I going to upstate Pennsylvania toa friends cabin. We went out to the backyard there and fired off a brick or two of .22 ammo. It was the first I recall shooting, really, and I think I was maybe 8?

I don't remeber shooting much until I was in my late teens, as I rarely saw my dad. I do, however rember shooting a fully automatic BB gun in my uncle's back yard. That was a blast.

 

[crsgw]

As far back as I could remember, my Dad has always stressed safety in regards to firearms. I would stand next to him at his work bench as he cleaned a rifle or shotgun after he went hunting. He told me that in the right hands, a firearm was a great tool, and in the wrong hands they could be absolutely devastating and dangerous. He told me where all his firearms were. He also told me never to touch them when he was not around. If I ever wanted to see one or handle one, all I had to do was ask. He would check to make sure it was unloaded, then hand it to me and tell me to double-check to make sure it was unloaded.
When I was 7 years old, he took his Marlin .22 LR and brought me out in the back yard. He set up a piece of plywood against a suitable backstop. He showed me how to shoulder the rifle, how to use the sights and proper trigger technique. After reviewing the saftey rules several times, he let me load one round and fire. I hit almost dead center of the piece of wood and he was very proud of me. He still has that piece of plywood after 25 years.
As I grew older, he let me shoot his 9mm pistol. Eventually he let me shoot one of his shotguns.
When I was 13, I asked Dad if I could get a BB gun. He replied "BB guns are for kids." That weekend, he bought me my own bolt action .22 rifle. I still have that rifle and shoot it regularly at my gun club.
Over the years, I have been hunting and target shooting with my Dad several times. I got my first pheasant with my Dad standing right next to me. These trips to the field and the range with Dad are far and few between now, due to our busy schedules.
Last fall, I took him pheasant hunting. Neither of us fired a shot, but we both had a great time.
Today, I took Dad to a sporting clays shoot. We both did pretty bad, but I have never had as much fun shooting sporting clays as i did today. Most of the time, I go to the range alone and go hunting without him. But every time I pull the trigger, I think of my Dad and I always will.

 

[Spiphel Rike]

Shooting an old tin of honey on a fence. Every round from that old bolt action .22 keyholed. that was in 1994, and I was 6.

 

[Harve Curry]

The smell of Hoppes no.9 and cleaning our .22's by the kerosene heater after a cold snowy day of trying to shoot woodchucks.