I wonder ....

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We were at the local city dump and my father and friends were there plinking at rats. I remember being frightened at the gray streaks scurrying about hiding in trash. Back then trash trucks just backed up and dumped in heaps. The refuse was burned and what didn't burn was eventually buried with a bulldozer.

Anyway I do not remember my mother being there, just me and my dad, his friends. My brother is 3-1/2 yrs behind so it might have been she was at home with the baby. They decided to let me shoot my dads Ruger .22 Std. Auto. Dad was standing behind me and holding the gun stretched outright in both my hands, sort of Weaver stance. When he let go for me to fire I pulled it closer to my face to better see the sights. It was too heavy for me stretched out that far. POW! The slide bolt came back to flatten my little button nose but good! Blood gushed everywhere instantly. I had shot my face clean off! I went nuts with the blood all over both hands and gushing. The old early 1960's Chevy truck did not have any side mirrors nor any I could see in. They finally polished a baby moon chrome hubcap so I could see I was OK. Just a bloody nose. Then I was fine. I don't remember it even hurting, just my blood being all over. He had some explaining to do as I was a mess but we got by.

I cannot remember a time I did not have some type of gun. Cap, clicky, ray, BB whatever. Westerns were where I watched heroes save the day with honor and restraint, justice always prevailed. Roy Rodgers was my first hero I can remember.