One day at the dinner table before we started eating, Dad pulled out a wad of cash bigger than I had ever seen before. He proceeded to count out equal piles for me and my older sister. It was for the "runt" pigs we had saved and raised ourselves in a small pen I had built in the corner of the windbreak. He had sent them to market included in the last load and I had forgotten about it; he now surprised us with a reward for work. Don't recall the exact amount but it approached five hundred dollars. My own money. WOW. Could save it or spend it as we liked. Few days later he took me to the small Sporting goods store in town where I picked out a clip fed Winchester .22, around $89 as I recall, no paperwork, no nothing but the money changing hands. Got a few boxes of ammo. Went all about the farm and woods with it, never instructed with it, kept it in my BR closet, used it anytime I wanted. Shoot the eyes out of a snake with it.
Marvin, my best friend on the farm to the east had a bolt action .22, I'd shoot the mud beside a bullfrog sending it airborne then we'd both shoot ( and often enough, score a hit ) in the air. One day I took aim at the arrow tip on the weather vane on the lighting rod on the barn roof to watch it spin; but it did not spin, just broke off! Put many a round through it over many years. Don't recall what I happened to it. Was nine years old when I bought it.