One Christmas afternoon in the late 1950's, the boy next door shot me in the forehead with his Daisy Red Ryder BB Rifle that Santa had brought him. Yep, he almost shot my eye out.
It was my fault, though; I wanted to shoot it and tried to pull it away from him. His finger was on the trigger and that's all she wrote.
I ran home wailing and my father dug the bb out with a needle and gave me a tetanus shot, which hurt more than the bb did. Poor Bobby got his rifle taken away from him for a month. His mother was livid. He was still giving me a hard time about that in high school.
I still have the "dimple" above my eyebrow.
I would never permit a child to have a gun of any sort.