My brother had a BB-gun, and my dad eventually (after much begging) allowed me to get a Sheridan Blue Streak (but I had to save my money for it!).
But the kicker, the thing that really got me hooked, was shooting .22s at the rifle range at summer camp as a Boy Scout. I would have spent all of my time at the range if they would have let me! They had a wooden deck that they had built, about half way down a ravine. The deck smelled of creosote, and the mixture of the creosote smell and the smell of the smoke coming off the rimfire rifles is still etched in my memory. Those were some great days!
At the end of a hunt, I would impress them by killing Dr Pepper cans.