... I recently read an article in RSA's Magnum Shooter's Magazine (sometimes we actually get hold of one) about how the author got into shooting as a youngster ... in the first part of the story the author swerves a bit off topic at some stage and I initially thought something like "c'mon now - what's that got to do with anything", but then on a second, third etc. thought got me thinking more and more ... the times, they have sure changed ... I scanned that first part of the article into this post as follows:
____________________________________________________
A few years ago (or so it feels) when I was a carefree young lad, my parents moved from the Grahamstown dis-
trict to Port Alfred. Though Port Alfred was far smaller then than now, and far nicer, Mrs. Truter's little boy was sad to find that he could no longer just walk out of the back door and start potting away with his pellet gun -a practice which, by his reckoning, was an essential extramural activity, and one to which he had become addicted.
For a while things were tough -the fishing bug hadn't yet bitten me- but 1 soon found a saviour in Uncle George, who farmed just a few miles out of town, and who agreed, "Yes, let him bring his pellet gun out and shoot some doves.” Yes sir!
A short distance from the farmhouse stood a red corrugated-iron barn (still there today). Close by the barn, well within .177 air rifle range, was a construction of bush-cut poles and wire netting in which Uncle George kept the mielies that he fed to his stock. I don't know if the stock liked these mielies, but the doves flocked to them from miles around. I'm talking a serious number of doves here, possibly a zillion. I'd lie flat on my stomach, out of sight around the comer of the barn, listen for the flutter of wings, contain myself for a half-minute or so, and then ease my head and the rifle around the comer. Bang, and another dove would be added to the pile. In no time at all, the other doves would be back again.
Now I'm not going to stick my neck out and claim that Ma cooked the best doves in the country, but if there was a lady who did it better, she never invited me to dinner. I remember thyme being involved in the recipe, and thin gravy. My doves died for a good cause.
There were but few Saturdays that didn't find me walking the gravel road to Uncle George's farm with my pellet gun. As has been pointed out in Magnum before, a boy could do that then -walk down the road carrying his pellet gun without anyone raising an eyebrow. Of course, if he misbehaved with the rifle - like maybe potted a sunbird off some old duck's birdbath - he was roundly thrashed and his ammunition confiscated for a suitable length of "That'll teach you, you murdering little bugger" time. And no one raised an eyebrow at that either. A man could whack a boy, if that's what he deserved, without going to jail for it. That's how the lads learned to differentiate between what was allowed in a civilized society and what wasn't. Though we all had the tools needed to become robbers, rapists or murderers, we were shown - in a way that left no room for doubt - that we did not have the 'right' to use them for such evil purposes. The Old Man's leather belt across the backside instilled in a youngster that sense of self-discipline essential for the ultimate well being of any population of animals.
____________________________________________________
... I can still remember such scenarios, when we youngsters (10 years old or so) found it incredibly funny, to ride through the shoulder high crop with our bicycles and let the soft growth catch our fall ... the farmer did not find it THAT funny and when catching us at vacating the field, grabbed me at the shirt with his vice like grip, lifted me off the bike and shook me so, that I had bruises on my chest ... of course, I felt treated unjustly and ran home crying and complaining to my dad ... when he finished listening to the story, he gave me such a whack, that I got a fresh one from the wall and after bouncing back the face got caught by a second whack ... obviously, I did not understand the world and it took me a while to sort things out inside my head ...
... anyway, I'm convinced that this and other similar occasions set things straight for me and taught me to value other peoples possessions and feelings ...
... times seem to have changed ... nowadays generations seem so willing and readily prepared to destroy others property (i.e. scratching the paint on a car with the key, while walking past, etc.), harming other beings and comit crime in general (whether petty or serious) ...
... somehow writing this feels weird, as I sound to myself like those "grownups" we used to shake our heads at and say "what's wrong with that guy anyway?" ... but sometimes, I am wondering, where the energy invested to make a difference would be more worth our while - in the upbringing of our kids or the second ammendment ... PLEASE NOTE: I'm not saying that fighting for the RKBA is not worth it!!! ... I'd say that both needs attention, but maybe the one side gets neglected a bit at times ...
... IMHO those times of lesser crime might not only have been the times, where the bills made sense (and where more according to the second ammendment), but also times of authoritative upbringings, yes? ...
... thanks in advance for sharing your thoughts ...
cheers and beers
LetsFetz
____________________________________________________
A few years ago (or so it feels) when I was a carefree young lad, my parents moved from the Grahamstown dis-
trict to Port Alfred. Though Port Alfred was far smaller then than now, and far nicer, Mrs. Truter's little boy was sad to find that he could no longer just walk out of the back door and start potting away with his pellet gun -a practice which, by his reckoning, was an essential extramural activity, and one to which he had become addicted.
For a while things were tough -the fishing bug hadn't yet bitten me- but 1 soon found a saviour in Uncle George, who farmed just a few miles out of town, and who agreed, "Yes, let him bring his pellet gun out and shoot some doves.” Yes sir!
A short distance from the farmhouse stood a red corrugated-iron barn (still there today). Close by the barn, well within .177 air rifle range, was a construction of bush-cut poles and wire netting in which Uncle George kept the mielies that he fed to his stock. I don't know if the stock liked these mielies, but the doves flocked to them from miles around. I'm talking a serious number of doves here, possibly a zillion. I'd lie flat on my stomach, out of sight around the comer of the barn, listen for the flutter of wings, contain myself for a half-minute or so, and then ease my head and the rifle around the comer. Bang, and another dove would be added to the pile. In no time at all, the other doves would be back again.
Now I'm not going to stick my neck out and claim that Ma cooked the best doves in the country, but if there was a lady who did it better, she never invited me to dinner. I remember thyme being involved in the recipe, and thin gravy. My doves died for a good cause.
There were but few Saturdays that didn't find me walking the gravel road to Uncle George's farm with my pellet gun. As has been pointed out in Magnum before, a boy could do that then -walk down the road carrying his pellet gun without anyone raising an eyebrow. Of course, if he misbehaved with the rifle - like maybe potted a sunbird off some old duck's birdbath - he was roundly thrashed and his ammunition confiscated for a suitable length of "That'll teach you, you murdering little bugger" time. And no one raised an eyebrow at that either. A man could whack a boy, if that's what he deserved, without going to jail for it. That's how the lads learned to differentiate between what was allowed in a civilized society and what wasn't. Though we all had the tools needed to become robbers, rapists or murderers, we were shown - in a way that left no room for doubt - that we did not have the 'right' to use them for such evil purposes. The Old Man's leather belt across the backside instilled in a youngster that sense of self-discipline essential for the ultimate well being of any population of animals.
____________________________________________________
... I can still remember such scenarios, when we youngsters (10 years old or so) found it incredibly funny, to ride through the shoulder high crop with our bicycles and let the soft growth catch our fall ... the farmer did not find it THAT funny and when catching us at vacating the field, grabbed me at the shirt with his vice like grip, lifted me off the bike and shook me so, that I had bruises on my chest ... of course, I felt treated unjustly and ran home crying and complaining to my dad ... when he finished listening to the story, he gave me such a whack, that I got a fresh one from the wall and after bouncing back the face got caught by a second whack ... obviously, I did not understand the world and it took me a while to sort things out inside my head ...
... anyway, I'm convinced that this and other similar occasions set things straight for me and taught me to value other peoples possessions and feelings ...
... times seem to have changed ... nowadays generations seem so willing and readily prepared to destroy others property (i.e. scratching the paint on a car with the key, while walking past, etc.), harming other beings and comit crime in general (whether petty or serious) ...
... somehow writing this feels weird, as I sound to myself like those "grownups" we used to shake our heads at and say "what's wrong with that guy anyway?" ... but sometimes, I am wondering, where the energy invested to make a difference would be more worth our while - in the upbringing of our kids or the second ammendment ... PLEASE NOTE: I'm not saying that fighting for the RKBA is not worth it!!! ... I'd say that both needs attention, but maybe the one side gets neglected a bit at times ...
... IMHO those times of lesser crime might not only have been the times, where the bills made sense (and where more according to the second ammendment), but also times of authoritative upbringings, yes? ...
... thanks in advance for sharing your thoughts ...
cheers and beers
LetsFetz