Friday, January 18, 2013

A .22, Firecrackers and Kids

When I was a kid we loved to play with firecrackers.  Thank God there were restrictions on dynamite.

We had a .22 rifle locked in my Dad's gun case.

We got into the case (can you really hide keys from kids?) and one of my friends was of course, goofing around with the rifle.  He fired off a round that fortunately only went into the wall.

Another of my friends decided one day to use a hammer on one of the .22 rounds.  It went off, and thank God no one was hurt. 

One time we decided to take a gun powder out of a bunch of firecrackers.  We filled up a glass cigar tube half way.  We caped it off with the tube's cork and used some of the fuses to set it off inside our neighbor's metal mailbox. 

It blew the mailbox off of its post. 

I know.  Not much supervision at home.  That's what divorces, alcoholism, guns, firecrackers and eleven and twelve year olds do. 

And then there was the time my brother and I decided to dig an 12"X3" hole behind The Frietas'  garage.  We took an 8" caste iron skillet for a test fly.

I know this the truth because The Brown twins, Pam and Chris were there and I just saw them at our 40th Class Reunion.  We still laugh about this story.  By the way, the Brown twins were very cute and were the daughters of Mr. Doug Brown, the principal of our school.  Our backyards faced each other's.  That is another story all together.

So my brother and I  found an 8" caste iron skillet.  We had some M80 super firecracker that we placed under the skillet in the hole and lit. We thought that we might stand on the skillet until the M80 went off.  We lost our balance and jumped off at the last second. 

I swear to God - the skillet went straight up and out of site!  Pam and Chris saw it too.  We panicked, and luckily were able hide quickly hide under The Frietas' redwood picnic table. 

We all hid.  And waited.  And waited.   Then my big brother Bob decided to step out and take a peek.

BAM! That skillet hit Bob him on the side of his head and knocked him down and out.  His eye was the size of a bruised and bloody baseball.  By the way, if you knew Bob, you would understand that this could of only have happened to him!

When Bob got up we cried our way home to get some help from my poor Mom.

Anyway, the common sense, moral of the story is:  more guns, ammo and gunpowder out there will  surely cost some children their lives.       

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