Think it was my grandpa's shotgun, scary hair-trigger, kicked like hell.
Nope, he didn’t have one.
Turned out Dad wasn't kidding.
Yeah, but it was an old 10 gauge magnum market hunter’s gun. I had it propped on the stump in front of me at the ripe old age of 5, and no, I didn’t have it tight against my shoulder. To make matters worse, I let go with both barrels at once...but by 9 I was hunting deer and ducks, and still think of a .22 as the gun that has no kick.
I shoot in a skeet league, sporting clays, trap, IDPA, and occasionally a bird hunting trip up north. I was about 11 or 12 the first time I shot my Ithaca 37. On about the second try I got a bloody nose. My dad reminded me that it’s the cheek that goes on the stock. I went home with a sore nose, a sore shoulder, and a big smile that day.
I remember my first time, and it went fairly well. The kick was impressive, but I didn’t get knocked down or even bruised. I could hit a clay target on a fence post most of the time by the end of the day, and I hit one flying target out of several tries. I’m not sure how old I was, but I was very skinny.
A short, light female friend of mine fired a shotgun for the first time with her boyfriend just a couple of years ago. She ended up with huge bruises on her shoulder and arm; she also got burned by flying brass falling in her ample cleavage on another shooting outing with him. I was thrilled when she dropped that guy. Setting people up for the kick of a 12 gauge without teaching them to hold it right and making sure it’s at least an adequate fit is not nice. Decent people don’t abuse women and children.
I was 8 years old when I fired my dad’s Browning 12-gauge for the first time. The bloodying of my nose from the recoil (the rear of the Browning barrel is flat and abrupt) taught me to hold that damned thing tightly against my shoulder.
My first shotgun was a .410 single shot at age 10. Shot my dad’s double-barrel 12 gauge a year later. Quite a difference.
I was 10 when I shot my Daddy’s 12-gauge both barrels. I can remember the feeling to this day. I remained standing and that was an accomplishment.
I still haven’t done that.
I do remember the first time with Mommy’s shotgun. Back close to the wall so I wouldn’t fall. But I didn’t. :)
Yeah I had an ex-boyfriend who said he was going to be coming by the house to see me when my parents weren’t home over the weekend. If he showed, my dad told me to call the local Sheriff and tell him i just shot a trespasser and then we spent the next few days with my dad teaching me to shoot.
Yes. Dad had a 12Ga Stevens pump. circa 1940s or 50s. 1st time, i shot a trimmed paper shell (w/o shot & wadding) which amounted to basically a cap busting.
2nd time - a regular load. with stock UNDER my armpit, which allowed it to buck-up and split my upper lip. With that and all the grass birds stuck in my keds tenny shoes, this made for a miserable hot day in an old Texas pasture.
Couple of yrs later, dad bought me a Sears fo-ten... not a good choice. the 410 is an experts gun. 20Ga w/ properly fitting stock is best for a youth.
Sure enough, a flock of Teal flew over a while later, and I emptied the gun with no hits. I walked back to my Dad for more shells. His reply: "Why don't you use the ones you left with?"
I had (almost) done everything right - look around to make sure no one was in range, lead, aim, reload - everything, except pull the trigger. I found five unused shotgun shells on the ground where I had been standing. There was no sore shoulder for me that day.
People in Queens New York don’t have shotguns. Hammers, chains, stiletto knives, heavy cursing, yes, shotguns, no.
That picture is me at age 12. My Dad and Uncle were out somewhere with us kids and my Dad said to me “want to shoot the Browning?”. So I hoisted it up and fired one off. I flew about 3 feet backwards and the shotgun went up in the air where my Dad managed to grab it. He and my Uncle were chortling when my Dad remembered it was loaded with slugs. I never shot a shotgun again until Mr. GG2 introduced me to sporting clays.
My dad handed me the old Stevens 311 12 gauge and pointed at the clay target I'd just set up against the berm.
"Stand like this. Hold it like this. Pull it in tight. Point it. Now shoot."
BLAM!!
I actually hit the thing, and I was still standing... thing is I had just felt this sensation like never before, of some strong force shoving into me, but no problem, I had control of it.
It was such a valuable thing to my dad that I'd done something right, especially with a firearm, that he'd never have made this rite of passage into a jackass stunt.
My dad was such an exceptional man, and I took him so for granted in his time with me.
Think it was my grandpa's shotgun, scary hair-trigger, kicked like hell.
10 gauge when I was about 10.
Remember it? oh, yes I do.
At least he had me hold it tight to the shoulder and modify my stance so I didn’t end up on my kiester.
My grandfather let me shoot his ‘rolling block’ Stevens .22 single shot rifle when I was 5 or 6. I used the .410 shotgun around 10 or 11. It was with bird shot to scare off the crows in the trees. All I remember doing was ‘shredding leaves’ with it, rather than actually killing any of the crows.
as a young girl with three older brothers, these were almost daily happenings. first time with a shotgun was a double barrel 12 gauge and one brother tells me to make sure to pull both triggers, another brother was behind me and caught me... my shoulder was black and blue for weeks. they sure got their jollies that time. i was a sucker.. always trusted them.. lol.