In the 70s, material scarcity, many brothers and sisters, enough to eat and wear warm is already good, not to mention all kinds of toys.
The so-called "toys" are mostly made from local materials and handmade. At that time, I always dreamed of having a slingshot of my own.
My uncle was ten years older than me, and he was very skilled, and he often made his own slingshot. When I was six years old, I pestered my uncle for half a day before he agreed to help me make one.
The material is simple, a properly sized elm fork, neatly trimmed, stripped of bark, sanded smooth, and a slingshot holder similar to a straight "y" shape is formed. The old bicycle inner tube, cut to the right length, the thickness of the uniform two is enough. The "hanging silk worm" hanging from the tung tree, also known as the cloth bag worm, pick up a large and uniform, cut open the "cloth bag", use the whetstone to polish flat, trim into an oval or rectangular shape, two eyes on each side, a kung fu, wear and play, a beautiful slingshot is done, the psychological beauty is not to mention.
Uncle not only can make slingshots, but also play slingshots steadily and accurately. Uncle said, the slingshot is yours, you are still small, can not pull, go, uncle take you to play "little worm" to go, "little worm" is the little sparrow.
At that time, there were so many sparrows, outside the house, branches fingers, flocks, everywhere chirping little sparrows.
Watching my uncle squint at the treetops, a dozen little sparrows were laughing and playing. The uncle took the small pebble from his pocket, calmly and skillfully pulled open the slingshot, squinted his eyes and aimed at it, "poof", the small pebble shot out, the frightened sparrow howled and fled in all directions, and an injured sparrow flew down.
I clapped my hands and ran over with joy, it wasn't dead yet, it was just a low moan. I held it carefully in my hand, the wounded sparrow trembling, its head tilted to the side, so pitiful. Somehow, a trace of sadness burned in my heart, and my uncle did not care, and loudly signaled me to put it into the prepared cloth bag.
At noon that day, my uncle took me and beat a total of twelve sparrows and a dozen sour apricots. Afraid of grandpa's reprimand, he did not dare to take it home. The uncle called out to two more friends and brought a small iron pot. In the clearing, racks were propped up with adobe, firewood was collected, water was boiled, the little sparrows were disemboweled, and roasted in the fire. The aroma of roasted sparrow meat was fragrant, and they ate happily, but I couldn't lift my strength, and I sat stupidly, feeling like I was going to cry. Under the repeated reprimands of his uncle, he ate two sparrow legs very wrongfully.
The slingshot, the slingshot that my uncle made for me, I brought home, but I never used it.