A life lesson I learned as a young person still sticks with me today. When I was twelve or so, pellet and BB guns were the toys of preference. We used to head out into the bush and do target practice, shoot small game or birds. Even a game of war where we were shooting each other from a distance was not off the table. Within my peer group were a large variety of pellet guns. Some were weak, some medium in power [like my current pellet gun], and some were powerful. At this time, the one I had was a Canadian Tire .177 calibre worth about twenty bucks.
However, I desperately desired a .22 calibre, gas-operated pellet gun for my life to go on. I saw this exact model at the new Zellers store in their gun department and fell in love with it. For me, it was the first time I have ever experienced this personal brainwashing style of desperation. I mentioned to my parents I would like this gun for my birthday [maybe 50 times too much]. Of course, I was bitterly disappointed when I did not receive the gun for my birthday. I was so bitterly disappointed that I felt ill in a euphoric way. The gun was more than one hundred dollars back in1967 or 1968. I knew this gun was far beyond my financial resources. Either way, I went to the religious monument of Zellers gun department every weekend for my religious experience with the gun. When I finally got the gun in my hands, it was like my senses came alive. I could smell the metal [blackend and oiled steel] and feel the quality of the beautiful walnut stock. The trigger was at the perfect balance point of the gun. There was even had a special place in the rear wooden stock for an extra CO2 cylinder. There was nothing else in my life's inventory that had a comparison. I thought of the love I had for this gun. Could I even steal it? That five minutes a week I spent with the gun made me feel complete. Now I could imagine if I had the gun full time.
I asked my dad again as a Christmas gift. This time I told him how important it was for me. "Dad, [with great emphasis], this gun is like the be-all and end-all of my life." I remember I was almost crying when I told my dad of this. Fortunately, he was listening but not in the way I thought. At that time, he worked at a mental health facility. He might have recognized the issue. He said, "Son, I think you are obsessing over this gun issue a little too much." It is not good when all you think about day and night is about that gun. He said getting this gun will not solve your problem. Plus, you'll be disappointed with the gun—[I could not believe I could be disappointed in any way].
He bought me the gun for Christmas. I still loved the gun, and it never left my side for at least the first while. Then I remembered what my dad had said about being disappointed. The gun's operational cost was very high --- for a kid, and the .22 calibre pellets did not have the anticipated fast velocity. The weapon itself was not very accurate. The list goes on, and as my dad had prophesied, a real disappointment.
As a grown man, I always remember that desperate feeling I got over that gun. I had the same recurring feeling of obsession when buying the latest camera, car, computer, or whatever. The knowledge my father gave me made it a lot easier to know, recognize when I was obsessing over [another piece of junk].
Years and years later, as I moved out of my apartment as part of my divorce, I saw the gun. I pondered how I loved this gun. I still graphically remember holding the gun to my cheek in the Zeller's store, feeling the smooth texture of the walnut stock and the mechanical oiled gun steel. Now it seems like a distant memory of happiness, remembering my dad's helpful refreshing, and sobering advice. I took the gun and broke it over my knee, and threw it in the dumpster. I think I did that because I know "things or possessions" are not important, but the richness of life and memories is essential.