The BBs were a little something extra

The BB gun, Lynn said between frantic sobs into the telephone some 30 years ago, accidentally discharged. She was at home with her younger sister, while we dined out with friends.

Regina warned me about buying that gun. Like “A Christmas Story,” she warned that somebody might shoot out an eye.

We were lucky; the single BB shattered the fireplace screen and left an awful mess of glass shards in the carpet.

The crying was because Lynn knew she was in trouble.

We didn’t have another BB gun until three weeks ago.

Yes, Lynn remembered that BB gun and yes, at the time she thought it was unfair of me to bend the barrel and toss it in the trash. Now, she thinks I did the right thing.

Trey, 6, wasn’t expecting a BB gun when they came to visit the farm recently. Lynn thought taking him fishing and allowing him to ride the horses was enough grandparent stimulation for the weekend.

After safety lessons, Trey, had to overcome the gunstock being too long, making it difficult for him to line up his shots.

We started with tree leaves. He could hear the BBs snap through the canopy of the big oak , allowing him to get a sense of hitting his target as the BBs fell harmlessly into the woods.

We then aimed for the tree trunk. He missed by a mile on every shot his first day. By Day 2, he was keeping his shots level and peppering the tree trunk.

“Is this my gun?” he asked.

“It stays at the farm,” I replied.

He said that was fine but he insisted that I not tell Wright about the gun because he wanted to break the news to his cousin.

One-upmanship begins at an early age.