I remember shooting guns at camp as a kid and how exciting it was. The guns were so heavy and so loud and intense when they went off. We'd lay on our stomachs on a dirty platform and aim our rifles at paper targets. And there was a man named Oz who ran the whole gun activity area and he limped because he'd been shot by a kid accidentally at some point in time, or maybe more than once.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Tommi
All this talk and activity around guns reminded me of my cap pistols, spinning my six shooters into my holsters. I must have been about 7.
I recall my favorite "cowboy" jeans with R. R. on the front pockets in red rhinestones and that brown and white furry calico vest, and a checkered shirt with a string tie. I loved my little blonde neighbor that wore those pretty skirts and twirled all the time.
My Mom kept those clothes for me when I outgrew them, knowing how much I loved being that little dude. She knew I loved that little blonde, and many others when I got all growed up , and put away my six shooters.
|