our gun out before Mom and Dad get back" was his reply. I thought this was a grand idea.Our back yard was full of potential targets. My brother's first choice was two cases of empty mason jars my Mom used for canning fruit. Somehow this didn't seem like the right thing to do, but surely Tom would know right from wrong. He stacked up all twenty-four jars and shot them into a deadly pile of broken glass and jar lids. I had wanted a turn with the gun, but he said, "I have to sight it in first."With the jars demolished, Tom decided to find a few new targets. First was the neighbors' weather vane: an aluminum rooster high atop their barn. As each shot connected with its intended target, paint chipped off the rooster. "This looks like fun. Can I have a turn yet?" I asked. His reply was an adamant "No!"After this target was exhausted, he moved on to the neighbor's porch lights. What a good shot he was, as the various outside lights of all three surrounding houses burst one by one. I was anxious for my turn, but now Tom was taking aim at the windows of a nearby work shed. I couldn't believe my eyes, as he shot out four window panes with consecutive rapid-fire shots. "When will it be my turn?" I cried, about to wet my pants with anticipation. "You can't shoot the gun in the yard," he snapped. "You'll have to go to the riverbed." With that shocking statement Tom marched into the house and tossed the gun back under the Christmas tree.Of course I was furious for not getting to shoot my own gun, especially with such good targets. It was too late, though, for by now my parents had returned home. Nothing was said about the target practice that went on in their absence, but I was sure they would find out soon. I was also sure my brother would be long gone before all the damages were tallied.That last assumption is what led to my downfall in the ranks of urban big game hunters. The following morning my brother and I went to the ri...
