Shotguns and Bloody Noses

Five years of age sounds sort of young, but I started the first grade, learned to read and shot my first gun when I was five.

During visits to my grandparents in Cass County, Texas, my Dad would often take his shotgun and go hunting. He rarely returned with any game and was probably just trying to get a little peace and quiet. One Sunday, Brother Jack and I raised a ruckus until Dad took us with him. We followed him, single file, into the woods. Feeling confident I began begging him to let me shoot the big gun.

Dad's Uncle Jim had given him the loud old twelve-gauge shotgun that packed quiet a punch."You're too little to shoot it," he told me.

"I can do it," I begged.

"Okay," he finally said, handing me the gun that was longer than me. "Hold it tight against your shoulder, point it that way and squeeze the trigger real slow."

I found the shotgun big and heavy, and much too long to wedge its butt against my right armpit. Instead, I had to allow most of the stock to protrude behind my back. When I jerked the trigger, things happened faster than I could handle. The blast blew the gun out of my grasp after hitting me in the face and bloodying my nose.

My old man could hardly stop laughing, along with Brother Jack. He finally yanked me up off the ground, wiped my bloody nose with his handkerchief, and then retrieved his gun. I was crying then, but I got the last laugh.My Dad was an only son, my Grandma adored him. It didn't matter. When we returned to the farmhouse, she saw the blood caked on my face and shirt, and my rapidly swelling eye, and began giving old Dad pure Holy Hell. My mother, hearing the ruckus, quickly joined the fray.

The rest of the day, I basked in the attention heaped upon me by Mother and Grandma. Maybe I felt just a wee bit guilty at the abuse heaped on Dad, but I didn't feel a whit bad about my jealous brother. The attention I reveled in quickly wore off, and I was soon again just little Eric. It didn't matter. I had shot Dad's gun before big brother had. To this day, that moment of elation has never left me.

Louisiana Mystery Writer