For my “Sweet 16” birthday, my dad bought me a .410 shotgun.
My mother was not amused.
Ironically, she now tells the story of the time I picked a barn rat off of the backyard burn barrel at 100 yards with it.
Not only was I “conflicted” as a child, the things that she was ashamed of me doing then, she brags on now.
[talk about surrealistic!]
My dad was a career prison guard and he would go to work and regale the inmates with my latest Annie Oakley-esque adventure every night.
[these tales of wonder, mind you, were the very deeds I’d gotten in big trouble at home for doing, in the first place]...:))
One evening, I stopped in to visit him at work release and inmates came running from everywhere, just to get a glimpse of “The Legend”.....LOL
[all I heard in the background was “It’s HER! It’s HER!!]
Imagine their surprise when, instead of some terrifying Valkyrie, in walks a puny little 5’ 3”, 105 pound runt.
I think I became even more “legendary” because of that since dad said the ‘white noise’ regarding me got to be so intense I was ordered never to show up there, again.
[he was concerned for my safety because they were, after all, in there for crimes and would someday get *out*]
So...did your sister shoot the Barbie with the BB gun?....:)
“..So...did your sister shoot the Barbie with the BB gun?....:)...”
No, she shot me a couple of times though.
She hung out with me all my friends until puberty. (Momma kept a close reign on her after that). We roamed the woods and swamps, fished, camped, swam, all the usual kid stuff common in the early 60s south.