That smell!! You gun guys know what I'm talking about. Those others of you probably won't get it, but a friend of mine gave me a big bottle of Hoppe's No9 the other day. Of course I added it to my cleaning kit right away, and have been finding excuses to use it ever since.
Funny, that cleaning weapons is a chore for some people. Something they put up with, for the job, or for the pleasure they get from shooting. It's just the bad with the good they have to put up with, like cleaning the stable if you have horses. I enjoy cleaning guns, and it's not just because I love guns and shooting. I never thought about WHY I enjoy it so much before, but when I cracked that bottle for the first time and the smell of that wonderful cleaning agent, that works so well, but is gentle to the gun hit me. I realized, that it's not just a gun cleaner, it's love in a bottle. It's my fathers love. Yep, that's right, Dad's love in a bottle.
The finest memories from my childhood, that I can think of with my father, center around guns and shooting. The first time he let me shoot a gun I was about 7 or 8. I had been hunting with him before that and he had been careful to explain all the safety rules of hunting and handling weapons, but the biggest rule had always been DON'T EVER TOUCH A GUN! When ever we had been to the range, or out hunting my dad would break out his cleaning kit and get to work. What did he use? You guessed it Hoppe's No9. I would sit and watch him as he striped the guns down and carefully inspected and cleaned each part, reassembled and tested the gun. It was ritualistic and calming, often he would call me over and explain something about the mechanism. I didn't always get what he was telling me, but I paid close attention to every word.
To me shooting and cleaning guns became a magical time I got to spend with my dad. So when we were out one day and he set that old beer can down and called me over to him and asked if I wanted to shoot I was so exited I could only nod my head. The shotgun he handed me was bigger than I was! I can't remember what model it was, but it was a full sized 12ga. pump. He patiently showed me how to hold it tight against my shoulder and explained how to cover the beer can with the brass bead at the front of the barrel. Once his instructions were done he took the gun and loaded a shell in it, applied the safety and handed it back. My heart pounding in my ears, I put the gun to my shoulder and readied myself and covered the can with the bead just like he told me. I could feel my father kneeling behind me place his hand on my back. He said "when you're ready squeeze the trigger" and BAM, the shotgun roared and bucked back against my shoulder. If Dad hadn't been bracing me I would have flown three feet back. I looked to where the can had been and nothing was there! With the bead over it I couldn't actually see the can and I was worried I had missed, but now it was just gone! Dad took the gun and asked what I thought. I just asked if I could do it again. It must have been the right thing to say because he just grinned and said "Maybe later, I think we need to get something more your size."
True to his word Dad let me shoot several rifles and pistols whenever we went out, and on my 10th birthday, he gave me my own. A Marlin 22 long rifle tube fed semi-automatic. He showed me how to clean it and use Hoppe's to get all the carbon out, and how to lightly oil the working parts with gun oil. After shooting or hunting in the desert, we would come home and clean the guns. At those times I felt closer to my father than any other, when I smell gun oil, Hoppe's, or just the burnt powder from a round, I remember my father, and the love he showed in teaching me how to safely use and care for a gun.
Is it any wonder that I am now a gunsmith? Thanks Dad!!
Funny, that cleaning weapons is a chore for some people. Something they put up with, for the job, or for the pleasure they get from shooting. It's just the bad with the good they have to put up with, like cleaning the stable if you have horses. I enjoy cleaning guns, and it's not just because I love guns and shooting. I never thought about WHY I enjoy it so much before, but when I cracked that bottle for the first time and the smell of that wonderful cleaning agent, that works so well, but is gentle to the gun hit me. I realized, that it's not just a gun cleaner, it's love in a bottle. It's my fathers love. Yep, that's right, Dad's love in a bottle.
The finest memories from my childhood, that I can think of with my father, center around guns and shooting. The first time he let me shoot a gun I was about 7 or 8. I had been hunting with him before that and he had been careful to explain all the safety rules of hunting and handling weapons, but the biggest rule had always been DON'T EVER TOUCH A GUN! When ever we had been to the range, or out hunting my dad would break out his cleaning kit and get to work. What did he use? You guessed it Hoppe's No9. I would sit and watch him as he striped the guns down and carefully inspected and cleaned each part, reassembled and tested the gun. It was ritualistic and calming, often he would call me over and explain something about the mechanism. I didn't always get what he was telling me, but I paid close attention to every word.
To me shooting and cleaning guns became a magical time I got to spend with my dad. So when we were out one day and he set that old beer can down and called me over to him and asked if I wanted to shoot I was so exited I could only nod my head. The shotgun he handed me was bigger than I was! I can't remember what model it was, but it was a full sized 12ga. pump. He patiently showed me how to hold it tight against my shoulder and explained how to cover the beer can with the brass bead at the front of the barrel. Once his instructions were done he took the gun and loaded a shell in it, applied the safety and handed it back. My heart pounding in my ears, I put the gun to my shoulder and readied myself and covered the can with the bead just like he told me. I could feel my father kneeling behind me place his hand on my back. He said "when you're ready squeeze the trigger" and BAM, the shotgun roared and bucked back against my shoulder. If Dad hadn't been bracing me I would have flown three feet back. I looked to where the can had been and nothing was there! With the bead over it I couldn't actually see the can and I was worried I had missed, but now it was just gone! Dad took the gun and asked what I thought. I just asked if I could do it again. It must have been the right thing to say because he just grinned and said "Maybe later, I think we need to get something more your size."
True to his word Dad let me shoot several rifles and pistols whenever we went out, and on my 10th birthday, he gave me my own. A Marlin 22 long rifle tube fed semi-automatic. He showed me how to clean it and use Hoppe's to get all the carbon out, and how to lightly oil the working parts with gun oil. After shooting or hunting in the desert, we would come home and clean the guns. At those times I felt closer to my father than any other, when I smell gun oil, Hoppe's, or just the burnt powder from a round, I remember my father, and the love he showed in teaching me how to safely use and care for a gun.
Is it any wonder that I am now a gunsmith? Thanks Dad!!
This made me cry...for several reasons...brought back some memories...and you are a very good writer Rick. I love you :)
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