My mom insisted that I not be allowed to handle a gun until I was 12. At least, not a real one that shot real bullets. My dad got me a BB gun earlier than that, and I was allowed to plunk tin cans.
Once I was older, I was allowed to learn on his .22 rifle, But we didn't have any other guns. The only other experience I have with guns of any kind was when I was over at a friend's apartment, stoned off my ass, and we went over to his grandpa's house. Old man was crazy. Not 100% in a good way. Racist as fuck. But he liked me, And he asked me if I wanted to shoot off his 12 gauge. Being stoned as I was, I didn't brace it properly. Shoulder still hurts, 20 years later.