In the 90’s, my understanding of current trends and pop culture came mostly from my older siblings. Aerosmith, The Spin Doctors, and The Eagles were constantly on repeat in my room (which I shared with my brothers.) Across the hall from my sister’s lair, came heavy bass beats from Ace of Base and Real McCoy… umm, I forgot where I was going with this, but anyway- my brothers used to be really into BB guns.
I was reminded of my favorite story about BB guns when I was down in Maryland for my uncle’s funeral. I know, I know. That connection couldn’t have been more clearer…?
On the last night of our family reunion before everyone went on their separate ways, we got to talking & reminiscing about Bac Hung (my uncle) specifically the memories we all had with him. I was still pretty young when Bac Hung’s family lived in our same town in NY, and to be quite frank- 50% of my childhood associations with Bac Hung’s house had to do with his boys’ (my cousins) obsession with killing small animals, especially birds and squirrels. Not only were they obsessed with that, they were good at it. So, hopefully with that preface, you have a better understanding of how the topic of BB guns first came up and soon after its introduction, the topic started thriving, leaving a room full of family members laughing while feeling slightly ashamed. The amazing part though, is that this conversation topic led to the revealing of one of the deepest, darkest secrets that our family has ever known…
After a few stories about the embellishment of victories and bird sizes (“It was :::spreads arms out as wide as possible::: THIS big and I shot it down in one shot.”), and then that moment of dying-down laughter/recuperating breath that comes after it, none other than my infamous Dad cleared his throat loud enough for the crickets to say “How rude…”
“Bo (Dad) still remember that one time I killed a family of rabbits.”
Huy and I immediately look at each other, then look at all the other cousins, our eyes and mouths extending wider each second.
Finally, Huy exclaims to the sea of family below him (He was sitting on the stairs), “Oh my God. Is today the day? Is today the day for my Dad to know the truth?!”
Half of the room pretends to giggle while looking around the room (but you can obviously tell by the overexaggeration of their chest pops that they don’t understand.), the other half nod in agreement while snickering and rocking like hyenas in those video-game chairs.
Huy motions for the crowd to be silent, and says, “Alright, family. Some of you may know this story already, but I think I have to re-tell it to everyone now.”
My Dad grins uncomfortably…
I think I’ll continue this story with my own voice now. So, here goes…
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The summer when I was 11 years old, my brother Huy told me that I could practice shooting with the BB gun out of our room’s window, but ONLY when Mom and Dad weren’t home. I remember barely being able to reach over the window sill, glasses already so thick that I couldn’t effectively use the scope. Nonetheless, I was excited about my brother’s approval- it was one of many freedom gates he opened maybe a tad too early during my restrictive childhood period.
I was aiming at an old rusty soccer goal post in our backyard, since I knew the “winning” sound that came with its’ direct hit almost too well, probably because I was never able to experience it on my own. Oh, I wanted that “DING!” and I wanted it bad.
After 15 minutes, I was finally all done propping up the BB gun and aiming, and just before I was about to shoot, my brother came rushing into the room (yes, I was unsupervised) and said, “Hy! There’s a rabbit out there. Do you see it? Try and shoot it!”
Now, I’d like to think that I wasn’t the only child more concerned with rusty metal posts than with small animals, or maybe my vision was going through a period of rapid decline, and my prescription had jumped -2 points in between eye check-ups- and I just didn’t notice it. Maybe, I didn’t see it because I had this child condition of only seeing things that are shiny, a fairly normal child condition, I presume. Whatever it was, I just didn’t notice that white rabbit in the middle of our backyard.
After I yelled at him and said something like, “I almost had the DING! sound! Ugh… not fair. ” I lugged the bee bee gun over to the right (using my whole body to move it a few inches away) and aimed for the rabbit. I got ready, aimed, and fired.
Missed.
Reloaded. Aimed. Second Shot.
Missed.
Reloaded (which usually took about 10 seconds for normal human beings, but took 25 for children who weighed under 10 lbs.) Aimed. Fired.
Missed.
Huy’s foot tapping became noticeably louder. His shoulders were in a permanent phase of “shrug.” His older brother mindset of being “supportive, uncontrolling, and fair” slowly widdling away…
“Move. Give me the gun, you keep missing!”
He grabbed the gun from me (which probably gave me immediate relief from my shoulder tension), loaded the gun in .5 milliseconds, aimed, and fired.
“Got it.”
I clapped and cheered in my proud little brother temperament, not knowing that my brother’s level of achievement was any different from winning a Nobel Peace Prize.
“Wait a second… it’s still moving. It must not be dead yet… here, Hy. Take the gun, go down there, and shoot it again, or else it’s gonna suffer and die painfully. You wouldn’t want it to die painfully would you?”
I promptly shook my head to motion my strong, child, PETA opinion. I would never let an animal suffer.
I took the gun, and slowly headed downstairs out to the backyard. While I was walking through my house, more specifically, while I got to the shoe rack and was putting on my shoes, I had one of my first ethical conversations inside of my head.
I thought to myself:
I knew I had to “put it out of its own misery,” but how was I going to shoot and actually kill a rabbit? I’ve never killed an animal before, and here I was- slowly meeting my fate of killing my first animal. How could I find enough bravery, strength, and virility to actually go through with it? This is coming from the same kid who is mildly obsessed with shooting rusty metal posts. Maybe it’ll die before I get there? Maybe it’ll jump back up on its feet before I get there, and I won’t be able to shoot it! Yeah, I’m sure that will happen!
So many thoughts were going through my head, and suddenly my inner-dialogue was interrupted by Huy shouting down the stairs, “HY! Hurry up! It’s moving! It looks like it’s dragging its hindlegs! You need to kill it now!”
I took my first step onto my backyard’s grass, the last of several symbolic legs that only came closer to my fate as a “murderer.” My thoughts were solemn and gray, but my backyard was a lush green and it was full of beautiful dandelion “flowers.” I remember the intensity of each step towards my parent’s small garden next to the shed, but I must have not been very aware of my surroundings: I didn’t realize until I got to the spot (the one I had previously made note of from my bedroom window) that there wasn’t a rabbit there. I immediately snapped out of my gray-zone that came along with my gloomy, melodramatic procession, and confusingly looked around. Where did the rabbit go? Did it disappear? It was right there, I thought.
After looking in every direction possible, I looked to my far left and saw some grass rustling. I took a few steps over and saw a white rabbit covered in deep red blood, slowly dragging its limp hindlegs with its front two legs.
I stood there motionless. I was in a state of shock. I couldn’t have cried if I wanted to; I didn’t know how.
“HY! DID YOU SHOOT IT YET?!” Huy is yelling while running towards me.
The very moment he steps next to me, we simultaneously make incredibly loud gasps as we watch the rabbit slowly crawl into a hole under the shed.
With only it’s dragging hindlegs visible and about five more seconds until it dragged its entire body under the shed (an intense countdown indeed), my brother quickly grabs the gun from me in a hasty shuffle… and click.
It was too late. By the time he loaded the gun, it had crawled all the way underneath the shed.
“SHIT! DAMNIT, HY! DAMNIT! Ugh…Well, I guess we can’t do anything now… it’s probably just gonna die underneath the shed now. Poor guy.”
We both walked back inside the house. I kept saying to myself, “I hope that wasn’t my fault.”
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Fast forward to a week and a half later:
My mom, brother, and I sitting inside the kitchen on a sunny, summer day. My dad is outside working on the garden, as my Mom prepares some nuoc Tang, the toxic orange drink our family would come to love forever.
Mom: “Dad is really sad today.”
Huy and I: “Why? What happened?”
Mom: “Well, when we were outside working on the garden a couple week ago, Dad saw a rabbit near the vegetables next to the shed. He shoo’ed it away and it ran down the hill, far far away. Then, today your Dad and I went out the vegetable garden and smelled something really terrible… and it was coming from under the shed. Then, your dad remembered that the rabbit he shoo’ed a couple week ago was a big one- and so it was probably a momma rabbit. He thinks he shoo’ed away the mom from the baby rabbits, and so the baby rabbits starved to death under the shed. Isn’t that sad? He didn’t mean to…”
:::Huy and I look at each other, dumbfounded and speechless. After three seconds of expression-less stares, we start laughing:::
Huy: “Mom, that’s a really ridiculous thing for Dad to think. That story makes no sense! Do you actually think he shoo’ed the momma rabbit away?” :::laughter continues, but my mom looks confused:::
“Ok, okay… to tell you the truth, it was our fault. I shot the rabbit over a week ago, and it crawled back underneath the shed before we could kill it. Dad didn’t kill the rabbit, we did.”
At first I was expecting my mom to be mad… like, REALLY mad at us. Sure, mom knew that we had a bee bee gun, but she never knew that we killed animals with it. Again- I say “we” even though I mostly shot lifeless, rusty metals.
Mom: “Oh my Gaw… DON’T tell your Dad.”
Huy and I: “What?”
Mom: “It’s okay… let him think he killed the rabbit. If he finds out that you did it, he’ll be so angry and blame it on me.”
Me: “Okay… whatever you say, Mom.”
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Fast forward 12 years to November 14th, 2009.
Huy: “Dad I have to tell you the truth… The truth is… well.. YOU didn’t kill a family of rabbits… WE did!”
:::every one of my family members bursts out with laughter, 50% of them already knowing and expecting the outcome as the cue for the laugh-track.:::
:::Huy goes on with the story explanation, my Dad nervously chuckling in a mixed state of probably confusion and long-overdue relief:::
I chime in, “OH my god. I’ve told SO many friends this story. This is amazing!”
Another cousin screams, “This is epic! We’re witnessing history!”
Huy motions the room to calm down a little.
Huy: “Wait, wait, everyone… hold on… okay- you know what the best part is? …MOM WAS IN ON IT THE WHOLE TIME! SHE KNEW!”
:::laughter at the highest decibel level ensues:::
So, that’s my favorite BB gun story. I hope you understood the moral. If you didn’t catch it, here it is: If you ever kill a rabbit, lie about it for a decade, and then have an epic story reveal in front of all of your family. You’ll never forget it, and you definitely won’t regret it.
Hy Huynh