It’s that time of year again when I’m compelled to educate people about the Daisy Red Ryder Carbine. Among those things so very uniquely, distinctively American is the Daisy Red Ryder lever action Carbine BB gun; and I will once more call attention to the fact the Daisy Red Ryder Carbine WAS NOT AN AIR-RIFLE! IT WAS SPRING-POWERED!

In an age of disinformation being abused especially by politicians that would try to fool We the People into thinking any of those pandering for votes really care about us, the ordinary American citizens not insulated from cares and want by power, wealth and privilege, I’m reminded of an old political dictum that has served politicians so well: “You can fool some of the people some of the time; and that’s all that’s necessary.”

So, how does a Daisy Red Ryder spring-powered BB gun become an “air-rifle?” By the ignorant in power calling it such, and promoting the ignorance through films like “A Christmas Story (1983).”

Now I find it a charming film with some very clever dialogue and I continue to watch it with delight, but decades before the film was made I earned my genuine Daisy Red Ryder BB gun selling garden seed and Cloverine Salve door-to-door as a child in Bakersfield. This was such an important event in my life it became the focal point of my 500 page novel Donnie and Jean, an angel’s story about two twelve year old children growing up in Bakersfield, and it was the mechanism by which Donnie met Jean and how these two children changed each other’s lives.

While the book includes much of Kern County history for the period of WWII and is largely autobiographical, there are the deep subjects of religion and politics as well where angels and all good Baptists fear to tread. And not a few people that have not read the book will wonder how God could use a BB gun to bring two children like Donnie and Jean together? How can God bless a boy wanting a BB gun? Well, maybe as that last line in Sergeant York: “The Lord sure does move in mysterious ways.”

But even as a young boy I knew the difference between the low velocity Red Ryder Carbine and an air-rifle. That spring-powered BB had nowhere near the velocity of a proper air-rifle, some of which can match the killing velocity of a .22 cartridge, and the better quality ones selling for up to a thousand dollars or even more for the match quality guns. When they were first developed, Napoleon thought air-rifles should never be used in warfare because of their silent killing capability.

However, I very much doubt the makers of the film were aware of any history of air-rifles and I’m sure they didn’t know the difference between a spring-powered Red Ryder BB gun and an air-rifle. Had anyone qualified bothered to check they would have noticed the Red Ryder was never advertised as an “air-rifle.” I’m sure Harper Lee knew the difference since she had Jem and Scout’s uncle giving them air-rifles, not spring-powered BB guns, and Aunt Maudie would not have been in danger from spring-powered BB guns at any distance across the street while bending over presenting a “generous target” before Atticus intervened.

But as with the fallacy of calling the Red Ryder BB gun an “air-rifle,” in just such manner on the part of the universities and their product media illegal aliens become “immigrants,” child molesters, rapists, and murderers become “gentlemen,” and Negroes become “African-Americans,” an illiterate oxymoron, while politicians seem to have forgotten about Americans and any vestige of national sovereignty, heritage, culture, language, and borders while pandering for the “Latino” vote.

However, I share Ralph’s disillusionment over his Madison Avenue discovery about “secret” messages and Ovaltine commercials. When I joined the Captain Marvel Club I felt cheated to discover the “secret code” was only the alphabet backwards. It has been many years now since I learned some of the hard lessons of childhood that things do not always turn out as advertised. Still, I can’t help wishing people would tell the truth. While I can understand ignorance, and as a classroom teacher I spent years trying to dispel ignorance, nevertheless I wish we had a leadership that would deal in the truth rather than lies, many of which unlike the “air-rifle” error in A Christmas Story are intended to deceive, take advantage and do harm.

“Yet some natures are too good to be spoiled by praise, and wherever the vein of thought reaches down into the profound, there is no danger from vanity.” Believing Emerson was correct I have learned to appreciate my “simple, rural poverty” that has no need of either lies or praise, and I cannot help wishing those that lie and scheme their ways into power did not do so. However, this is the system established by the god of this world, and those that would achieve and hold power over others work by the rules of that system. But these will never be profound for their very works proclaim how shallow their need for the praise of men, nor does it speak well for humankind that such as work within Satan’s system, in my opinion, rather than that of Jesus’ rise to power over others.

But to return to A Christmas Story and the Red Ryder Carbine, one of the things missing from the film was the genuine reaction Ralph should have had when opening that box containing it. The movie leads up to this most important segment, and due to a painfully obvious lapse fails to give it the significance it should have had. I can only suppose the script writers never experienced what it was to have dreamed of such a treasure, and then to finally have it in their hands as a boy. Since that part of the story is missing, I will tell you from my book what my reaction was, what the reaction of Ralph should have been, and perhaps would have been if the script writers had really understood, and if Ralph had earned the gun as I had:

The day finally arrived. The long, heavy, and important looking heavy cardboard box clearly said in beautiful red block lettering: One Daisy Red Ryder BB Gun.

Everyone was gathered round for a sight of the long talked about Carbine. My grandparents and great-grandmother heaped praise on me for my diligence and responsibility in fulfilling the goal; together with the essential and expected dire adult warnings of consequences should I ever misuse the weapon.

I beamed with pride at the praise of fulfilling my obligation and listened dutifully, shook my head in the right places and, in general, ignored the threats and warnings. I knew my part as the kid and I knew the part of the adults, and we all played our parts faithfully. That’s part of being family.

As everyone looked on I took my pocketknife, and being careful not to damage the box removed the heavy, copper clad staples. Holding my breath, I slowly lifted the lid. There in front of me, wrapped in thick, brown, wax paper was the Red Ryder Carbine.

I slowly exhaled at the excitement and anticipation of finally holding it in my hands. Gently lifting the magnificent Red Ryder Carbine out of the box I began to carefully unwrap the paper; I didn’t even want to tear the protective, waxed paper.

And here it was at last; in all its metallic blue and dark brown walnut glory, with genuine saddle ring and leather thong, the picture of Red Ryder mounted on Thunder, together with his name formed by his lariat clearly branded into the stock, the gun I had dreamed of and worked so hard and waited impatiently for so long.

Everyone said it was beautiful. Grandad clapped me on my shoulder and said it like man-to-man, “I’m really proud of you, son.” I almost blushed. After everyone had taken a turn admiring the marvelous treasure, I was permitted to go to Ronnie’s and my bedroom with it.

It was like I was dreaming; a gauzy, surreal scene as I held the gun in my hands, moving them all over the rich walnut of stock and forearm, touching the saddle ring and leather thong. There was Red Ryder’s picture, mounted on Thunder, with his actual signature in scrolled writing formed by his thrown lariat branded right into the wood on the beautiful, smooth walnut stock just like the pictures of the rifle that I had seen.

This was something I had dreamed of and worked hard for; something I had earned myself. It was real now; a dream realized that I held in my own hands. This was something I had earned on my own. This made it really special; something I could take deserved pride in as a personal triumph of self-discipline and perseverance.

I gazed with pleasure at the long tube under the barrel into which you poured the BBs, just like the tube on the Winchester ‘94 .30-30, a real cowboy rifle. After a few moments of enchantment I pulled the lever down, cocking the gun, and returned it to its upper position and felt it click into place: Ready to shoot!

I held it to my shoulder, pointed, sighted and pulled the trigger. Snap!

It was an authoritative sound, a sound that meant business. I was now a Rider of the Purple Sage; I was shooting it out with rustlers and bandits! I could now hold my own alongside Red Ryder, the Lone Ranger, and Hopalong Cassidy. I belonged.

I didn’t delude myself that a BB gun could compete with a .30-30. But it didn’t have to. It wasn’t meant to. It was special not because of the difference in firepower, but what it represented of the cowboy aura where only children lived, something I realized somehow grownups weren’t a part of, something that belonged to me as a boy no matter how grown up I was beginning to feel.

There was magic in that world that grownups didn’t seem to understand or had long forgotten. I couldn’t go out there in those open fields around the neighborhood of Little Oklahoma with one of the real guns. But I could go out there, wherever I might find There in my imagination, with my Red Ryder Carbine and enter into that magical world that belonged to me as a boy, no grownups allowed.

I couldn’t remember when I had lost interest in shooting marbles or playing Cowboys and Indians, I couldn’t remember when cap guns stopped being of interest to me; maybe when I first started venturing into the forest around the mining claim on my own. But for some reason, the Red Ryder Carbine seemed to be a reminder of the things that were really meaningful about being a boy, before I had started thinking more like an adult rather than just a boy. Strangely, with the Carbine in my hands, I seemed to want to go back to when things were simpler and not so confusing to me, a time when I believed I could be one of those cowboys fighting rustlers. I still wished things didn’t have to become so complicated with growing up. But with the Red Ryder Carbine finally in my hands, I could still enjoy being a boy. The grownups had their world, and I still had mine; and somehow the Red Ryder Carbine was the assurance I seemed to need that this time of my life was very special; and even though it was not a conscious thought I believe it was there that this was something that needed to always be remembered.