I was eleven in 1967. Our twelve hundred square foot house was home to a family of eight.
We were surrounded by forest, just outside of a yard that could be mowed in twelve minutes.
One would assume that an eleven-year-old boy in this wooded tranquil setting would be less likely than most to experience such self-induced trauma as I did that Sunday morning.
How could the second oldest of six and eldest son do what I was about to do?
Dad took sides that Saturday.
Mom said no to my BB gun request.
Dad over-ruled. His son would learn responsible gun ownership and besides, it was his paper route money.
The wait for Saturday night to morph into Sunday morning was excruciating.
I choose six o’clock. It was early but not enough to set off a parent alarm.
The gun waited for me in the front closet. What harm to just hold it, it was empty after all.
Mom would not approve but dad would understand.
I was the great hunter walking around in our living room. Soon I was looking for wild game.
I pushed the heavy curtains to one side and examined the thriving jungle just outside the window.
On the ground a gray squirrel rummaged in the thick forest floor, moving about in their quick jerky motion.
In a moment we locked eyes. As if it knew me bad gun worse, he bolted and was half way up the tree in three seconds.
I raised my brand-new Daisy rifle and with its empty chamber I shot that squirrel square in the fore head.
Suddenly, as quickly as that BB hit the window the blood ran from my face. My knees buckled; my arms became two lead pipes. Time stopped.
I stared at the small hole where the gray squirrel’s forehead once was.
As windows go, these were large, Boston Aquarium large.
I thought of mom’s wrath, dad’s disappointment and regret.
Goodbye Daisy BB gun hello bedroom for an indefinite amount of time.
Recounting, putting that memory on paper; Funny how my stomach still tightens up at the age of
Just to clarify one or two things, did you break the window then or put a hole in it? Did you actually shoot the squirrel? Did that mean that the gun was loaded after all?
The squirrel lived to forage another day. The double pane window ended up with the hole and as I mentioned, it was a damn big window. I figured insurance took care of it because I wasn't sold or put up for adoption.
My BB gun was still in the box that Sunday morning so I figured it was the gods being passive aggressive. I did make up a couple sins at confession the week before so I guess I had it coming.
I was eleven in 1967. Our twelve hundred square foot house was home to a family of eight.
We were surrounded by forest, just outside of a yard that could be mowed in twelve minutes.
One would assume that an eleven-year-old boy in this wooded tranquil setting would be less likely than most to experience such self-induced trauma as I did that Sunday morning.
How could the second oldest of six and eldest son do what I was about to do?
Dad took sides that Saturday.
Mom said no to my BB gun request.
Dad over-ruled. His son would learn responsible gun ownership and besides, it was his paper route money.
The wait for Saturday night to morph into Sunday morning was excruciating.
I choose six o’clock. It was early but not enough to set off a parent alarm.
The gun waited for me in the front closet. What harm to just hold it, it was empty after all.
Mom would not approve but dad would understand.
I was the great hunter walking around in our living room. Soon I was looking for wild game.
I pushed the heavy curtains to one side and examined the thriving jungle just outside the window.
On the ground a gray squirrel rummaged in the thick forest floor, moving about in their quick jerky motion.
In a moment we locked eyes. As if it knew me bad gun worse, he bolted and was half way up the tree in three seconds.
I raised my brand-new Daisy rifle and with its empty chamber I shot that squirrel square in the fore head.
Suddenly, as quickly as that BB hit the window the blood ran from my face. My knees buckled; my arms became two lead pipes. Time stopped.
I stared at the small hole where the gray squirrel’s forehead once was.
As windows go, these were large, Boston Aquarium large.
I thought of mom’s wrath, dad’s disappointment and regret.
Goodbye Daisy BB gun hello bedroom for an indefinite amount of time.
Recounting, putting that memory on paper; Funny how my stomach still tightens up at the age of
68
Wonderful story 🤩
Just to clarify one or two things, did you break the window then or put a hole in it? Did you actually shoot the squirrel? Did that mean that the gun was loaded after all?
Thank you for reading.
The squirrel lived to forage another day. The double pane window ended up with the hole and as I mentioned, it was a damn big window. I figured insurance took care of it because I wasn't sold or put up for adoption.
My BB gun was still in the box that Sunday morning so I figured it was the gods being passive aggressive. I did make up a couple sins at confession the week before so I guess I had it coming.
Marc Boucher