I was 7 years old and dad was shooting clays out in the back yard with my uncle. Dad had a 16 ga. Remington pump. He asked me if I wanted to shoot a clay so I said sure. He told me to say pull and I did. I shot the clay before it got more than 10 yards past us.
Dad started screaming that I shot way too soon. My uncle started yelling, "Oh my God!" over and over again and he was laying on the ground rolling around back and forth and back and forth and yelling and rolling and rolling and yelling. I thought for sure I had shot my uncle between all the screaming going on. But I knew I had hit the clay so I couldn't figure out how I managed to shoot my uncle, who was standing behind me when I shot anyway because he threw the clay.
Finally it dawned on me that my uncle was screaming because I had hit a clay on my first shot ever. He must have laid there on the ground screaming for 10 minutes though. Dad was still mad because I had shot so quick. He finally asked me why I shot so early so I told him I had a bead on it and I just pulled the trigger. Dad stopped screaming and said something like, "Well that's the idea I guess," but my uncle started screaming again. He was really into shooting clays and dad was too because they both liked to quail hunt. Before long dad bought an actual trap machine which was an expensive thing back then. I think dad paid $600 for it which was like $6000 now. This was like 1963. He sold it after about a year and got almost all of his money back but for a year we had shotgunners coming to our house from all over the tri-state plus Columbus, where my uncle lived, and Dayton, where another uncle and a good friend lived.
I still chuckle when I think about seeing my uncle rolling on the ground and screaming the way he did. It's no wonder I thought I shot him the way he was acting. He talked about that for years and I guess I'm still talking about it.