I didn\u2019t shoot my eye out. Not with a BB gun anyhow. And, not in one of the many BB gun wars we waged in the cow pasture next to the neighborhood where I grew up. (The area is now populated with houses, but back then it was a kid\u2019s paradise, a war zone in the summer and a toboggan & ski resort in the winter). No, I messed up my eye much later in life, when a tree branch snapped back and hit me in the eye while I was clearing the riverbank in Owego. But that\u2019s a story for another day. An old coot story. This is a kid story.<\/p>\n
My, \u201cdidn\u2019t\u201d shoot my eye out tale took place after I\u2019d paid my dues for years and waited expectantly, like Ralphie in A Christmas Story<\/i>, to find a Daisy Red Ryder BB gun under our Christmas tree. I\u2019d posed for dorky Christmas cards with my sister, year after year. I\u2019d forgone my desire for a BB gun and asked for eye safe toys: footballs, sleds, board games and electric trains. But when I turned 10, I launch my campaign for a BB gun. My friend Woody, from the next block, had access to BB rifles and BB pistols. I used him and his gun friendly parents as the centerpiece of my campaign. But, things looked glum. My mother batted aside every pitch I threw her way. \u201cWoody has one, why can\u2019t I?\u201d – \u201cBecause you\u2019ll lose an eye!\u201d This was before the term \u201cshoot-your-eye-out\u201d came into vogue. You \u201clost\u201d things in those days. Your eye. Your arm. Your life. <\/p>\n
\u201cNo I won\u2019t! Woody didn\u2019t!\u201d She pointed out that Woody wore glasses; his eyes were protected. Something I knew all too well. Especially after so recently doing the dishes for 25 cents every night until I\u2019d earned three dollars to pay for the pair I\u2019d broken in one of our backyard disagreements. <\/p>\n
\u201cWe don\u2019t shoot at each other. We just pretend to shoot,\u201d I argued, lie that it was, with me sporting a tender, red-rimmed pockmark from taking one in the leg just that morning. <\/p>\n
\u201cWe only shoot at stuff,\u201d I said, adding to my lie. She was too smart for that. She was as concerned for the \u201cstuff\u201d as she was for my eye. She knew the stuff included dopey robins that remained on a branch, enduring shot after shot, squirrels that scampered back and forth making the adventure even more exciting, the glass windowpanes in Mr. Soldo\u2019s garage, Mrs. Bowen\u2019s tulips and the Merz\u2019s dog. But, I had an answer for all those damaged goods. It was homemade arrows that misfired in a game of cowboys and Indians that caused all those mishaps. \u201cA BB gun is accurate; it would never damage stuff,\u201d was my weak-brained argument.<\/p>\n
The whole thing was of her fault. She\u2019s the one who dressed me in cowboy suits since before I could walk, who equipped me with two six-gun cap pistols and helped me mount a wooden rocking horse in the driveway with my faithful dog Lassie at my side. How did she not see this growing into lust for a weapon that could really fire? A BB gun! <\/p>\n
Christmas finally came, in those waning days of Truman\u2019s presidency. It took what seemed like years, those four weeks following Thanksgiving, when the count down started. I came down the stairs and to my glee, a three-foot long slender package with my name on it was in the back, under the tree. I saved it for last. I unwrapped the mittens knitted by my aunt in Connecticut. And, like the ones she sent every year, they were too short and would leave me with red, raw wrists when I played outside in the cold.<\/p>\n
Next came a pair of ski pajamas, the fashion rage of the day. Then a big surprise, a radio of my own. A radio for my room, so I could listen to Sergeant Preston of the Yukon, Suspense and The Shadow in private. Finally came the long skinny box. I tore off the paper. The carton underneath didn\u2019t say Daisy Air Rifle: it was unmarked. I didn\u2019t care; I\u2019d settle for an off brand. I pried open the lid and pulled out the weapon. A single shot, ping-pong ball rifle!<\/p>\n
My chagrin lasted less than an hour; I found the lemonade in the lemons. I could shoot at people. I could shoot at stuff! I no longer have that eye-safe, engine of warfare from the 1950\u2019s. But, I do have a BB gun, a Daisy Red Ryder Carbine, No. 111, Model 40. My wife, tired of my complaining, found it in an antique store and gave it to me for Christmas in 1983, the same year A Christmas Story<\/i> aired and Ralphie got his. It\u2019s a little scuffed up and the squirrels laugh out loud when I stand guard at our bird feeder, but it shoots just fine. And, I haven\u2019t shot out my eye out! <\/p>\n