Story time. Maybe other geezers can relate.
I was 7 when my dad brought home the BB gun I had wanted for months. I still remember that late afternoon in the back yard, which abutted a deep woods where we kids played. My first target was a pine tree. Dad was right behind me so he could reign in any errant gun movement.
That's all I remember of the first evening. The best part of the story comes the next afternoon after school.
I came in the door already begging my mother to let me shoot. No, no, said she, you have to wait for your father to come home. O please Please PLEASE, I'll be CAREFUL! Dad told me what to do!
She gave in. She said, ok, but you can only have 10 BBs. Then you have to wait for your dad.
So I took those 10 precious BBs out with the rifle (lever cocked, probably a Daisy). I put some green Army men on the little mound of dirt - my first BERM! - like Dad had showed me. Then I backed up and carefully picked off the plastic menaces, taking my time to make my 10 BBs last.
Then they were gone.
And I stood there looking at that pile of dirt and thought... yeah. I dug into the dirt. In moments I had my BBs back.
I shot all afternoon with those 10 BBs.
Looking back, I'm sure my mother was watching carefully. I'm surprised she didn't call me in... but she didn't. She let me have my fun.
That was over six and a half decades ago. The first of a million days afield.
- Richard 916-628-3490
