In the holiday classic “A Christmas Story” Ralphie labors to convince his parents a Red Ryder BB gun should await him under the tree on Christmas morning. He fears his fondest wish is dashed when even a department store Santa tells him: “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid.”
We all know Ralphie prevails.
When I was about his age, 8 or 10 I suppose, a Red Ryder BB gun was on my Christmas wish list. Dad was old-school and thought a BB gun was a kid’s privilege. Christmas morn it was propped next to the tree, with a couple of tubes of BBs nestled against the wooden stock emblazoned with “Red Ryder” in fancy script.
I carefully filled the tubular magazine with BBs, pulled on coat and stocking cap and went outdoors looking for a target. The best I could find was an old tin can in the big drainage ditch that ran in front of our house. BBs rattled off the can for a spell, until my young arm grew tired from struggling with the spring-loaded cocking mechanism.
Over the next several years I had a ball with my Red Ryder.
When warm weather came I found a hiding place in the hen house out back and when sparrows dropped in to sneak some of the chicken’s feed — we had dozens, including exotic silkies and bantams — I’d let ’em have it. That first summer I carved a couple of dozen small notches in the gun’s stock, each one accounting for a sparrow sent to that hallowed roost in the sky.
The biggest error I ever made with the gun was a few years later.
Ronnie Middendorf and I were best buddies and spent a lot time on his folks’ farm half a mile east of Humboldt. One day we walked up to the north pasture, with BB gun in tow. We took turns shooting at some target. Returning to the house on a cow path, he carried the gun over his shoulders perpendicular to his body, one hand over the end of the barrel.
I really didn’t know it was cocked when for no particular reason, I reached over and pulled the trigger. Ronnie screamed; I cowered and tried to look innocent. A BB had hit one of his fingers, leaving a big red mark.
We remained friends only from me begging forgiveness in the most genuine of terms.
I still have that old BB gun. It’s next to a 50th anniversary Red Ryder my folks gave me years ago.
Proving, once and for all, you never get too old for a Red Ryder BB gun.
