I wonder if any one of us will forget our first guns (rifle, revolver, pistol, shotgun). Here is mine:
Must have been around 1957. My father grew up hunting and trapping (muskrat for pelts). He told me stories and I was anxious to get my own gun and go hunting. He lost interest in guns after his service as a Seabee in WWII. Still he liked to tell the stories of bygone years. The Christmas of 1957 or thereabouts I got a single shot .410 shotgun which he said was the best first gun. I got the gun and a promise to go hunting. He would borrow a shotgun and he and I would hunt squirrels. Opening your first gun on Christmas morning was double the fun so to speak.
First day hunting: Up in the dark and into the woods. Strolling as quiet as possible, Big Bill then points to a tree and says, 'right up there, he's watching us.' I could not see the squirrel and we were whispering back and forth until he lost patience and said...see that fork up there? Yeah. Aim at it and pull the trigger. I did and a squirrel dropped what seemed like a long ways. I was filled with pride, excitement, a dream come true as they say. We hunted some more without any luck. I retold the story to Pat (mom): I got this one but we didn't see any more squirrels. Big Bill smiles and says: 'of course we didn't see any more squirrels, you yelled so loud when the squirrel fell that you scared the rest of 'em out of the woods.'