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A 22 when I was like 9 years old at a camp with my father. I ended up being expelled from school because I wore the shirt to school that had the empty casings in my front shirt pocket. Good times.
 
I ended up being expelled from school because I wore the shirt to school that had the empty casings in my front shirt pocket.
What a travesty. I've probably got 30 years on you, but where I went to school in Oregon, I remember the junior high school paper reported on the successful deer hunters. You could have been walking around with live shells in your pocket, and I doubt anyone would have cared. Opening day of deer season was a legitimate excuse to miss school. My how times have changed.
 
My dad never owned guns. When I was about 11 years old, he borrowed a .22 rifle from my cousin and we took it out to the desert and fired it. It was a Marlin Model 56, which I now have. My cousin gave it to me in 2001. For a .22, it's kinda big and heavy for a kid. The stock is walnut and generously turned. This Marlin Model 56 was a first year gun, made in 1955 and in that one year, the receivers were made of steel. Long barrel. About a year later, my dad borrowed another .22 rifle from my cousin, a Remington Nylon 66, which was easier for a kid to shoot. I don't remember any fear factor in shooting these rifles.
 
I must have been 14-16. Neighbors had a summer "camp" out in the West Virginia sticks, along the Potomac river. I was surprised but grateful my parents let me go a handful of times over the couple of years they were neighbors.
First firearm was a .30 caliber carbine. Great fun. The first handgun was a .44 magnum. Not so much fun. There were a few other 'firsts' on those trips but those are another story. ;)
 
I wouldn't mind being 9 for a day again.
Absolutely! That would put me back in eastern Oregon riding my bike all over with my friends, playing Army and Adam 12. 2 cent candy and Bazooka Joes.

Hopping on the air lines at the Texaco Station until the attendant chased us off. Life was great.
 
Hopping on the air lines at the Texaco Station until the attendant chased us off. Life was great
That reminded me of riding in the shopping carts at the local grocery store.
The entrance had a rather long ramp and our mother's would leave us outside and say they'd be only a minute (more like an hour, but who's counting, right?). We'd get bored sitting on the railing, so one of us got the idea of pushing the other one down the ramp, into the parking lot, while riding inside the cart. We had a pretty good time, but eventually the bag boy would come out and chew us out. LOL! He would get so mad over us riding in a shopping cart. :D
 
Pretty sure it was a generic, bolt action .22 rifle, followed very quickly by a Ruger Single-Six .22 revolver.

They were loaned to my dad from his brother, officially to have my dad (a former LEO) send the Single-Six to Ruger to have it modified to fix the ND problem these had when dropped on the hammer just right. But I have my suspicions it was because my dad couldn't get my mom to agree to let him buy a firearm to teach us boys about firearm safety (she's an MK born in central Africa who was very anti-violence when we were younger; not so much at 80). Yes, it was that long ago...
 
I was about 7-8 yrs old when my dad took my older brother and I hunting in southern Oregon back in the 60s. I don't remember the make or model but it was a nice hunting rifle my dad had for years.
 
First gun I shot was a Ruger 10/22 that my dad purchased the year they came out, 1964. He was a teenager and he and my uncle split it with money they earned cleaning out the neighbors pig barn.

First handgun was also a Ruger .22, not sure of the exact model.
 

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