My father loved his guns. Back then, we lived out in the piney woods a few miles outside Houston on Bunker Hill Road. It was a rural place with few neighbors. I was in the first grade. I remember hoot owls at night and a yellow school bus that picked me up in the morning.Daddy was a hunter. And a great skeet shooter.I have a picture of my father and a neighbor down the road in the 1940s, posing with their shot guns and the bodies of birds they killed that morning lying in front of them on the grass.