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Same here, no asking permission or supervision. I can't believe nobody got shot.

Winchester bolt-action for me, at 9.

The grown men in our family were all dead-set against any sort of toy guns.

It was the general consensus that such only encouraged improper firearms handling, which was not tolerated.

You didn't get a weapon of your own until it was decided that you were ready for the real thing.

BB and pellet guns were considered trainers and a stepping stone.

Until you could saddle and sit a horse yourself, and be trusted to safely handle firearms, you were regarded as a child and stayed around the house, doing chores for the women. Anyone who couldn't be trusted to do these things for himself was regarded as a liability.

Seeing one of your friends (who was only one year older than you) ride past and smirk down at you could make the heart burn without ever saying a word.

I embedded a bb in my second grade classmates forehead. He wanted a bb gun battle in some industrial area by the railroad tracks. We each choose a pile of cleared trees a hundred feet apart. Bam, right in the spot where the pajeets put their red dot. He still had the hole the next day in school.

We used to do that with rubber band guns. They still hurt like hell and also we always aimed for the eyes.

Kill yourself today loser.

You were born a loser and you will die a loser.

You are a coward.

You will not kill yourself though you need to die today.

The only good retard is a dead retard.

Die retard.