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Jesse's Hunting > Hunting Articles > Hunting Articles Archives > Christmas Memories - First BB Gun
Christmas Memories - First BB Gun
Mike Gilmore - JHO ProStaff
- Pensacola, FL
December 05, 2004
As a kid, I just couldn't wait to wake up on Christmas day. One year in particular still sticks in my mind and has created a memory I'll always cherish.
It seemed like I didn't sleep a wink that Christmas Eve night, but my eight year old body finally gave in and sent me into a wonderful world of dreams, with great presents piled high under the tree. I dreamed of the one present I wanted more than any other, a new BB gun. I wanted it so bad I just couldn't stand it and I had begged my parents the entire year to get it for me. It would be so much fun. I could target shoot anytime I wanted to out in Papa's pasture.
I awoke at about six o' clock on Christmas morning with a giant grin on my face. I ran in the living room and gave the Christmas tree a good glance before sprinting to my parents’ room to wake them up. They appeared to be real tired, and all I could figure was maybe they had spent all night sitting up and discussing my new BB gun with Santa before they went to bed.
I took off, back into the living room, and begged to open my presents. I started tearing through the paper like a cyclone. Just like most kids I began throwing things to the side until I could find that one present I had dreamed of getting. I tore through toy figures and trucks, Atari video games, clothes, and of course the customary pack of underwear my Great Grandmother always gave to the boys in the family. I couldn't find the BB gun.
I did everything I could to keep my cool, about as much as an eight-year-old boy could handle. I just couldn't find it. Was it possible that Santa took it to the wrong house? Did someone break in and steal it while I dozed in the wee morning hours? This was not good. Even though I didn't get the one present I wanted the most, I kept my cool because I knew this was Christmas and I should appreciate anything I received. Still deep inside I felt like I had been a good kid but for some unknown reason, Santa was unable to give me a BB gun. How depressing, but what do you do in this situation? I didn't want to ask mom and dad about it. I knew they had also worked hard every year to see to it that I received nice things at Christmas. My little brother was born earlier in the year, so maybe Santa sent him the good toys his first year on earth. I was really puzzled but kept my mouth shut.
Once all of the presents were opened, we traveled to my grandparents’ house for Christmas dinner. Usually we would open more presents there before Grandma served dinner. I just didn't feel up to this year. I felt as though Santa hadn't even listened to me at all and that I was good for no reason.
Christmas Dream Come True
Santa must have been listening to ProStaffer Mike Gilmore's childhood wishes, and a boy's dreams came true with the gift of a new Benjamin air rifle. Remember and cherish the Christmases of your childhood. |
I felt empty and had lost my appetite. Christmas was almost over for my eighth year and I still didn't have the BB gun I wanted. I still let everyone know that I loved my presents and things were great. I thought I was able to hide my emotions and that I had kept my cool. Being an adult now I know that wasn't true.
After dinner Papa asked me to go into his bedroom and get his slippers out from under his side of the bed. I took off into the bedroom to get the slippers and flipped the lower portion of the bedspread up to look under the bed. When I did, I discovered one last present and couldn't resist looking at the nametag. Wow! It had my name on it.
The slippers could wait while I inquired to Papa about the overlooked present. He told me that he had just forgotten to bring it out. I asked if I could open it and Papa gave me the permission. I tore through the package knowing this was my one last-ditch effort to get the BB gun.
Noisy paper flew all over the den as I made my way to the middle of the package. I nearly fainted and could not believe what I was holding. This was better than a dream and I figured the corners of my mouth were dancing with my eyebrows as I just sat there grinning. I was not just holding a BB gun. I was holding a Benjamin Franklin air rifle Model 347, with a brass barrel and real walnut stock. He had also included a one-pound can of Benjamin lead air rifle shot.
This was more than I had ever wanted. This air rifle was the top dog and was expensive. I knew Papa had paid top dollar for this present. I ran over and gave out the biggest hug I could to Papa, and told him thanks. I then made my rounds through the house hugging everyone else, because I felt like I had skimped the first time around.
I couldn't wait to out side and shoot. Papa went outside with me and set me up a row of ginger ale cans for me to plink. It didn’t take long and I was increasing the distance from the cans and knocking them down every time. I was on top of the world.
I kept that air rifle and grew up hunting with it. Squirrels and rabbits for miles around my home could hear me coming as I ran and pumped that walnut forearm at the same time. Over six hundred squirrels and forty rabbits fell prey to the Benjamin over the years. Each and every hunt is engrained in my head.
That Benjamin Franklin 347 created beautiful memories that fill my mind every Christmas. Sometimes I'll just pull it out and stare at it and feel like I'm hot on the trail of another nut-cutter. It still pumps up hard as a rock and lets out a nice crisp crack when I pull the trigger.
Papa's not around anymore to set up the ginger ale cans for me but I still think about him as I lay in bed and stare through the glass door of my gun cabinet at the Benjamin. I almost feel as if its part of him watching over me as I sleep.
Thanks Papa. That Benji meant everything to me.
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