At nine, I was hunting whitetails with my .410 and rifled slugs, and got my first deer when I was 11. Although it was my gun, there were very strict rules about handling, storage, and it could only be brought out under parental supervision. It was stored with the rest of the family long guns, and that was strictly forbidden territory unless mom or dad said it was OK.
In retrospect, I might not have been quite as careful with my gun (shotgun, that is) had it not been 'mine'. The sense of propriety made for some coddling for that old bolt action, and I never failed to clean and oil it after every trip to the duck blind.