I was 8 (or was it 9?) years old, with my Dad and Grandfather, on Grandpa's farm. I asked Grandpa if I could shoot his double-barrelled 12 gauge shotgun. "Sure." After a quick lesson in holding and shouldering it, I stupidly pulled both triggers simultaneously and landed on my ass, giggling like Beavis and Butthead.
Nowadays, just for giggles, I sit here with heavy-metal rock blasting in my headphones while baby alligators bite my nipples.