Great question, thanks for asking! For me it began even before I was born. My father's pet name for my mother was "BB," he had a car he called "bullet," and a dog named "Buckshot." So, when they found out I would be coming along, they started calling me "Millimeter." Mother decided that little "Millimeter" needed to give my father a Father's Day present even though I hadn't been born yet. She looked through one of his "American Rifleman" magazines and found something she coud afford and hoped that he'd like. It turned out to be a antique Belgium Flobert rifle. It wasn't worth much and ammunition was unavailable so he made it into a floor lamp that proudly adorned the living room for the next 60 years. When I finally showed up, I slept in a crib under a four gun rack on the wall. My father was a WWII vet and worked for the VA, so some of my earliest memories were of listening to him talk with other veterans about their lives and experineces, illnesses and wounds that were a result of the war. By the time I was five years old I was emptying bed pans and delivering lunch trays at the VA Hospital. One of the most interesting vets, however, was the grandfather of one of my neighborhood playmates who had signed up for the Marines before WWI, served in the Army after WWI and then the Navy during WWII and Korea. He had also worked for Peters Cart. and was a great machinist who could make just about any part he needed or wanted. In addition, he was active in several groups such as the National Muzzeloading Rifle and Pistol Assoc. and the Ohio Gun Collectors' Assoc. Well, he had given my playmate an Arisaka, but it was supposed to remain on the wall at all times, but one day it jumped off of the wall and pretty soon, wouldn't you know it, it was in pieces. It was a great education, but when it came time to get it back together before the adults found out, it just wouldn't cooperate! That led to another type of educational experience! But I was determined to learn as much as I could and that's when I found out that there was an old gunsmith who had his shop in his barn and was only about 2 miles away, which was within bicycle distance. And to make it even better between my house and his shop there was a private game preserve whose owner allowed me free range of his property (but no hunting) and a boy scout camp with a great 22 range that they let me use so someone could keep an eye on the place even though I wasn't old enough to be a boy scout. By this time my father was paying me a penny a piece for every dandilion I dug up, which was just great because the local general store sold me .22 carts for a penny a piece. It was all great until my father began to notice that the dandilions were gradually disappearing from all of the neighbors' yards as well as ours. I was really blessed with a great childhood that was full of great firearms related experiences, but that's enough for now. Thanks again for asking.