Dad bought my brothers and I a new Winchester 131 bolt action rifle each for Christmas 1968. I was 6 at the time.
Of course, he wouldn't let us fire them, because we were "too young". But, we knew where they were, down in the basement in dad's gun rack. By the time I was 8, I couldn't stand the torture anymore, and snuck downstairs to the forbidden end, where I liberated my rifle and located some .22 ammo.
There were several cherry rounds in the basement that dad was drying out slowly with wax over the ends to make gun and knife grips with later. I loaded the rifle, aimed at one piece from about 2 feet away, and pulled the trigger.
The sharp crack of the rifle was deafening in that basement, leaving my ears ringing, but I realized that there was also a telltale odor of gunpowder! I hadn't thought about that... and it lingered in that still basement air. I knew dad would smell it, he had the nose of a bloodhound! So, I admitted my guilt as soon a he got home from work. I expected a spanking, maybe even with the belt, but it didn't happen.
Dad realized that he had been wrong to tempt us, and not teach us. So he decided to take us out to my uncle's place to teach us to shoot, and handle the guns safely. We did this three or four times, and then went through a hunter's safety course. But, we were still forbidden to touch the guns without supervision. So I begged for a bb gun.
That request was flatly denied. They said I would shoot birds and squirrels. Of course they were right. That's the point! But my buddy had an old Crossman pump single shot, so we went into the woods with it regularly and took turns shooting at birds and squirrels. Then, one of the older neighborhood kids got a job at a hardware store, and I knew I could talk him into selling be a bb gun if I bribed him. I spent my lawnmowing money on a brand new Benjamin pump rifle in .177. I hid it in the woodshed behind the house. It remained there until I moved out at 18.
In the meanwhile, I had been hunting many times with my dad and uncles, and dad had bought me a Ruger model 77 in 7mm magnum in 1976. (14 at the time). Then, I talked him into letting me buy a Mk 1 target 6 7/8" in 1977.
By this time I was backpacking with my friends quite a bit up in the Cascades, and I think dad felt better knowing I was going armed. By the time I was 16 (1978) I started shooting NRA junior smallbore matches, and won the league in 1980. I aged out of the junior program, and was recruited by the gun club to come shoot military high power matches. They loaned me a nice Springfield Armory Garand, and sold me bandoliers of milsurp 30-06 for two dollars. That left 20 extra rounds for practice! Simultaneously I began shooting smallbore metallic silhouette
matches, but soon I left all that behind to pursue women and a career.
I still own all those guns, except for the Garand. But I have it's clone. And a few more too.
