As a boy growing up in the early ’60’s, I discovered that I wasn’t a killer after all.
Many boys growing up back then played ‘Cops & Robbers’, ‘Cowboys & Indians’ and ‘War’ among other things which for the most part, were driven by their imaginations, and if one were lucky enough, a prop or two to help bring it to life.
Air rifles and cap guns were the most popular props of all; all noise, no projectiles and no harm done. In fact, they were ‘parent approved’ without hesitation. Outdoors is where kids should be playing after all.
As one grew older, it was natural to aspire to the BB gun and to shooting targets – under strict parental supervision – if they were so inclined. But after a time even shooting targets grew boring and one’s sights would begin to wander, inevitably settling upon birds.
This is when I discovered that I wasn’t a killer; of birds or any other living creature.
I did in fact shoot a bird with my friends BB gun in his backyard. My first two attempts missed but when I did hit it on the third shot, my heart dropped with it as I watched the wounded bird fall to the ground.
In shock at what I’d done, I rushed over to the bird; it was still alive but there was a hole in which the BB rested.
I decided that I would do everything I could to save that bird from the horror I’d inflicted upon it. I took the bird into the house, managed to remove the BB with tweezers, put a dab of antibiotic cream into the wound, wrapped it in a bandage then placed the bird in an old birdcage we had. Then I crossed my fingers.
Fortunately the bird did recover and I released it at a nearby park; eager to fly as far and fast away from me as possible.
I have since not touched nor had any interest in guns of any kind and thankfully my two sons appear to have adopted the same lack of interest in them.
That said, are you missing some good-but-cheap creative help?