My Father was a keen wildfowler, and as a lad I would often accompany him on his trips out to secure Sunday lunch (goose, duck, pheasant, whatever he saw he shot and we ate) At the tender age of nine I was shown how to shoot with his 12 bore ("no sense mucking about with a toy gun, boy...you won't hit nothing with that")
Suffice it to say that on my first attempt, and being excited at being allowed to use Father's gun, I pulled both triggers at once.
I remember going past him at a rate of knots, airborne and upside down, still clinging on to his prized shotgun. I gave up shooting after that...