An American Tradition: Growing up With Guns
Posted: Thu, 01 Oct 2009 10:50:09
Here's something I wrote recalling memories of my first shotgun and hunting experience. I sure wish we could enjoy the same freedoms today as I did growing up as a boy in Alabama and Indiana.
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An American Tradition: Growing up With Guns
In 1970 I was 11 years old and living in southern Alabama. My father, now deceased, would take my brother and me to the dump where we learned to shoot a .22 rifle. We were very poor and the local dump was a place of adventure for a young boy to explore and discover treasures discarded by those we considered to be rich. My father usually held more than one job to make ends meet and he often had trouble finding time to sleep much less time to take us to the dump for shooting practice and exploration.
Around 1972 we moved to a small town in Indiana and I started middle school. Most of my peers and cousins were involved with hunting and so I too took up an interest in the sport. We lived in a trailer park across the road from the “gravel pits” where we could fish, explore, and hunt. I tried to convince my father to take me squirrel hunting, but the efforts failed. Finally he looked at me and said “Boy, take ole Long Tom there in the corner and go buy yourself some shells and head for the woods.” Old Long Tom was an ancient 12 gauge single shot with a 38 inch barrel and nearly as tall as I was. I managed to acquire a couple of dollars and stopped at the local sporting goods store on the way home from school a few days later. Remember that this was 1972 and I was 13 years old. I had been in the store many times and it was a place of wonderment for a young boy. The old man had stocked it full of hunting supplies, fishing gear, and guns which were off limits to young boys unless your dad was along for the visit.
One thing I can still clearly remember is the cardboard box full of loose 12 gauge shells. They were big, green, and mean looking. I don’t remember how much they cost, but I had enough money to buy 6 or 7 and away I went loaded down with ammunition for ole Long Tom. It never occurred to me at the time that I had never shot Long Tom and my father had made it clear I was on my own. A couple of days later I found myself in the woods just as it was beginning to get light enough to see. I was sitting under a tree with a fully loaded 12 gauge shotgun and ready for action. I cannot honestly remember a time when I saw so many squirrels in the woods. I watched the first as it scampered along through the leaves and raised the gun to shoot only to stop myself out of fear. I had no idea what was going to happen when that gun went off. About 2 hours and several unscathed squirrels later I decided it was time to shoot that gun. By this time the squirrels had given up presenting themselves as targets so I stood on the side of a hill in those woods, cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger. BLAM!!! The kick was hard and the blast was enormous, but I left those woods with that shotgun tamed and fully mine. Never again did I pass up an opportunity to put meat on our table whether it was squirrel, rabbit, dove, or even pigeon, which by the way tastes like chicken.
Ole Long Tom was eventually replaced with a 10/22 and was returned to my uncle who now lives in northern Alabama. The prized gun actually belonged to his father so it was rightfully his. My father died a few years ago and I was pleasantly surprised to find a similar shotgun in his collection. That old shotgun is now in my collection and will remain there until its passed on to a deserving young boy who wants to learn how to hunt and shoot. I realize that he will never be able to make the trip by himself to the corner store to buy loose shotgun shells until he’s old enough, but I can and will certainly pass those and other memories along with that old shotgun. Hopefully, he and his peers will not only learn how to hunt and shoot, but also how to respect our rights and preserve them for future generations...dk
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An American Tradition: Growing up With Guns
In 1970 I was 11 years old and living in southern Alabama. My father, now deceased, would take my brother and me to the dump where we learned to shoot a .22 rifle. We were very poor and the local dump was a place of adventure for a young boy to explore and discover treasures discarded by those we considered to be rich. My father usually held more than one job to make ends meet and he often had trouble finding time to sleep much less time to take us to the dump for shooting practice and exploration.
Around 1972 we moved to a small town in Indiana and I started middle school. Most of my peers and cousins were involved with hunting and so I too took up an interest in the sport. We lived in a trailer park across the road from the “gravel pits” where we could fish, explore, and hunt. I tried to convince my father to take me squirrel hunting, but the efforts failed. Finally he looked at me and said “Boy, take ole Long Tom there in the corner and go buy yourself some shells and head for the woods.” Old Long Tom was an ancient 12 gauge single shot with a 38 inch barrel and nearly as tall as I was. I managed to acquire a couple of dollars and stopped at the local sporting goods store on the way home from school a few days later. Remember that this was 1972 and I was 13 years old. I had been in the store many times and it was a place of wonderment for a young boy. The old man had stocked it full of hunting supplies, fishing gear, and guns which were off limits to young boys unless your dad was along for the visit.
One thing I can still clearly remember is the cardboard box full of loose 12 gauge shells. They were big, green, and mean looking. I don’t remember how much they cost, but I had enough money to buy 6 or 7 and away I went loaded down with ammunition for ole Long Tom. It never occurred to me at the time that I had never shot Long Tom and my father had made it clear I was on my own. A couple of days later I found myself in the woods just as it was beginning to get light enough to see. I was sitting under a tree with a fully loaded 12 gauge shotgun and ready for action. I cannot honestly remember a time when I saw so many squirrels in the woods. I watched the first as it scampered along through the leaves and raised the gun to shoot only to stop myself out of fear. I had no idea what was going to happen when that gun went off. About 2 hours and several unscathed squirrels later I decided it was time to shoot that gun. By this time the squirrels had given up presenting themselves as targets so I stood on the side of a hill in those woods, cocked the hammer, and pulled the trigger. BLAM!!! The kick was hard and the blast was enormous, but I left those woods with that shotgun tamed and fully mine. Never again did I pass up an opportunity to put meat on our table whether it was squirrel, rabbit, dove, or even pigeon, which by the way tastes like chicken.
Ole Long Tom was eventually replaced with a 10/22 and was returned to my uncle who now lives in northern Alabama. The prized gun actually belonged to his father so it was rightfully his. My father died a few years ago and I was pleasantly surprised to find a similar shotgun in his collection. That old shotgun is now in my collection and will remain there until its passed on to a deserving young boy who wants to learn how to hunt and shoot. I realize that he will never be able to make the trip by himself to the corner store to buy loose shotgun shells until he’s old enough, but I can and will certainly pass those and other memories along with that old shotgun. Hopefully, he and his peers will not only learn how to hunt and shoot, but also how to respect our rights and preserve them for future generations...dk
