Don’t Do It, Vince

October 14, 2019

Every Christmas, we watch Elf at least two or three times.  It’s everyone’s favorite Christmas movie in our house.  But secretly, A Christmas Story holds a special place in my heart.  Not because of the childhood cursing or the sexy leg lamp, although those things are pretty entertaining in their own right.  No, it’s the BB gun.  It’s all about the BB gun.  I wouldn’t let any kid of mine today have one, but being a kid in Texas, BB guns were a standard toy back in the day.

Just like the movie, I got a Red Rider rifle for Christmas.  The BB’s didn’t pour in from the barrel like the movie.  Mine had a tiny little hole at the hammer where you loaded the BB’s one at a time.  Very inefficient, but at ten years old I didn’t know any better.  All I knew is how to put as many notches in the backyard wooden as I could.  At one point I had the genius idea to shoot through the hole of the tire swing, just like I used it for football throwing practice.  A ricochet that hit my cheek is how I found out the “you’ll shoot your eye out” scene really was possible. 

For a ten-year old I was a good shot, really good.  One look around the back yard and you could see how much stuff I practiced on.  The shredded bullseye paper, the chipped-up fence, the trees, the tree swing, the patio furniture, the pears on the neighbor’s pear tree.  All had faced the wrath of my Red Rider.  After six months of relentless practice, I needed a greater challenge, but what could it be.  The answer came one fateful Spring Saturday morning.

As I stood on the patio with my back on the patio door, I surveyed the back yard for something new to aim at.  I looked up and saw a little Swallow bird on the fence.  Not giving it a second thought, I quickly raised my trusty Red Rider and took a shot.  I missed and it flew off, but the idea was planted.  No more than a minute later another Swallow landed an electrical wire over the back alley.  It was so small, so far away in the back alley.  That would be the greatest shot I’d ever take. 

This time I took my time.  I cocked and raised the BB gun, carefully aimed and took the shot.  I could hear it hit.  A couple of feathers flew off as the bird fluttered down into the back alley behind the fence.  Jumped in excitement as I ran to the back fence.  I opened the gate and stepped into the alley.  I froze as I saw the bird fluttering on the ground.  A small trickle of blood was coming out of the neck.  I stood there, unsure what to do as the fluttering continued for what felt like forever.  After a minute or two, the bird finally slowed down, curled up its claws and died.

As the bird laid there quietly, I finally turned around and went back into the back yard with my head hung low, gun dragging behind me on the ground.  I dropped it as I walked into the house and headed straight for my room.  I laid on my bed staring up at the ceiling.  My eyes filled with water, and tears rolled down into both of my ears as I sobbed at what I had done.  I didn’t touch my Red Rider again for a year.

That next summer at age eleven, my best friend Vince came over to play as we did all summer for years.  At some point between playing video games and riding bike, Vince found my BB gun in my closet.  Immediately, he wanted to go outside and shoot it.  I hadn’t shot it in a year, it sounded like fun.  I found a box of BB’s and we headed outside.

We walked all around outside the house looking for things to shoot.  It didn’t take long before he had an idea.

Vince: You think I can hit that bird in the driveway?

Me: Don’t do it, Vince.

Vince: What?  You don’t think I can hit him?  Watch this.

Me: You’re gonna regret it.

But he wouldn’t listen to me.  He took aim and shoot, hit the bird on his first try.  He pumped his fist in excitement as I shook my head.  We jumped up and ran across the yard.  We looked down at the bird as it was writhing on the pavement.  Vince stood frozen, staring at the bird not knowing what to do.

Vince:  What do we do?

Me: Just shoot it in the head, put it out of its misery.

Vince: I can’t.

I took the BB gun and put it to the bird’s head and shot it.  It immediately stopped moving.  Vince continued to stand there for another minute.  Then just like me last year, he turned around and walk back to the house. He stepped up to the lawn chair and plopped down, staring up into a tree.  His eyes began to water.  I just stood there next to him shaking my head.

Vince: What have I done?

Me: I tried to tell you don’t do it.  But you wouldn’t listen.

Vince: I’m never going to shoot anything ever again.

Granted, that’s a lofty goal to shoot for in Texas, no pun intended.  I think it only lasted a couple of years.  We all had BB guns by middle school.  And we all got them confiscated on the same day when we decided to play a game of war with them and Chris really did almost lose an eye.  That was the last time I ever saw my old Red Rider.  But I will always remember the lessons we learned together.

The moral to this story is, boys do stupid shit.