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I was twelve and my father had purchased my first firearm.
It was a replica
of
the M1 Carbine, a BB gun. I have never been more proud of a possession in
my entire life. We lived on a six acre plot of land with a two
acre pond in an area called Irish Hills, located in Southern
Michigan. I had a very large world to explore and a never-ending
supply of things to shoot at. My father was a great shot and I
wanted to be just like him.
I shot everything. Even things I should
not have shot. All boys do.
One time my friend Matt came over to stay
the weekend and he brought his BB gun. The two of us shot
everything we laid eyes upon. It was war!
There was a small bird sitting on the
kitchen window sill of my house. Standing with Matt out by an
old pump house, I took aim and hit it with the very first shot.
Matt was impressed. So was I.
Adrenaline and testosterone can surely
make you do some pretty stupid things. Within moments I would
pay for
my sin.
Unbeknownst to me my mother cherished the
little bird. It would sit by her kitchen window and sing for
hours.
She was in the
kitchen when I made my spectacular shot and saw everything!
My mother promptly stormed onto the front
porch and demanded I hand over my BB gun. I slowly walked
towards her and handed over my treasure. I thought sadly that it
would be months before I would see it again, if ever. My
sadness was rudely interrupted by my mother cocking the BB gun
and telling me - run.
She had a look in her eyes that
told me I had better not second guess or try to negotiate. I
took off running as fast as I could.
The first shot hit me square in the
buttocks. I
screamed like a little girl. I did not know what was more
painful: being hit in my rear by a BB or having it done in front
of my friend. Turning around and thinking my torment might be over I saw
that she was actually cocking the BB gun again. I ran like hell, this
time zigzagging across the yard hoping this would throw off her
aim.
She fired several more times. She didn't hit me again.
She walked into the house and the
BB gun went away from me for months.
I learned several things that day:
- My mother really liked birds;
- She was a little off her rocker once
angered;
- She did not really have a high regard
for firearm safety;
- My father was not the only good shot
in the family and my odds of being one as well just went up
exponentially;
- Me getting shot in the ass was
entertaining to friends.
After reading my story you may ask yourself why I
would ever want to handle an M1 Carbine again? Because my mother
lives on one coast while I live on the other.
Safety can be inspirational.....
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