memories

[Mrcymstr]

I was thinking recently (dangerous thing for me to do) that many of my best family memories revolved around firearms. I grew up very pro gun and was given my first bb gun when I was probably 6 or 7. For instance I remember the first time I shot a long gun bigger than a 22 it was an h&r junior topper 20 GA my papaw let me shoot at a few coke cans in the back yard, it hurt so bad I actually cried :shame: but that was a very few years before he passed away and even though it hurt I fell in love with that gun, then the year before he died he gave me that shotgun and I will never part with it.

I remember times when I was being taught about guns by my dad, who a few years ago my situation with him became very rocky but I can always cherish the time he spent teaching me even though he didn't use such a formulaic "4 rules" system they were all their I was taught about sight picture and got to fire his 22 often. For special treats I would fire some .38 from his .357.

The times my stepbrother brought down half an arsenal of everything from mossberg 12ga pistol grip to old 45-70s and even his nearly perfect condition Luger. This brother has since served 2 tours in the middle east and narrowly escaped being caught in the explosion of an oil rig in the gulf of Mexico.

All these things come to mind when ever I see a weapon, hear discharge, smell gunpowder or shoot. How many of yall have these kind of deep ingrained memories of times when all the world's issues disappeared and it was just you and a close relative (and about 4000 rounds of ammunition )

 

[Mac2]

Mine was definitely my Dad. He introduced me to shooting and it was just something he and I did when I was a kid. Blackpowder first. When I was 11 years old, I bought him a Kentucky rifle for Christmas (1974) with my paper route money. I liked it so well, and how it thrilled him, that I bought an identical one that New Years eve for myself. We shot a lot together. A lot of revolver shooting. My 2 younger brothers never really got in to shooting.
We shot and had very good times for years, then I joined the Marine Corps in 1982. After my hitch (no combat), I moved to North Carolina for work. Mom and Dad were in Pittsburgh. We still shot together some, when I went up or they came down, but not like we used to. Dad got me in to reloading and casting my own also, and because of him, I'm good at it.
I got away from shooting a bunch in the late 90's. Still shot some recreationally and qualified at my job every year, and still carried for self protection, but it really wasn't the same. Got more into riding Harleys that Dad also introduced me to. (HD means high dollar).
December 18th, 2009, Dad developed pneumonia. He had already been diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis earlier. He could not beat them both.
As I sit with him in Jefferson Hospital Christmas eve, I thought he was out of it, and I held his hand and said to him "what I wouldn't give to go shooting with you one more time". A tear went down his cheek. The nurse nodded, and I knew he heard me. Dad died Christmas day.
I inherited most of Dad's guns, which I will always cherish (the one that means the most is that Kentucky rifle). I have gotten back in to shooting and reloading. I joined Carolina West Shooting Club, and am enjoying every bit of it. It is a combination, of good times, honor of shooting his guns, and missing him. If your Dad, or Grandpa introduced you to shooting, take them shooting. You'll miss them when they're gone. Love ya Dad, Terry.