When I was 12 years old, my brother and I were planting blackeye peas. We had an old horse-drawn 1-row planter that we hooked behind a row cultivator on our tractor. One person drove the tractor and the other walked behind with the planter.
A neighbor's grandson was shooting turtles in a pond about 300 feet across the fenceline. I had talked to him when we first got to the field, before starting to plant. His name was Jimmy, the same as mine. Our mother's had shared the same hospital room when we were born. We were very good friends.
After my brother and I started planting, I heard several shots and then heard a ricochete quickly getting louder. POP! It hit me like a bee sting, right in my butt.

I started screaming, "I've been shot! I'm shot!" as my bewildered brother jumped off the tractor to check me out. He didn't believe me at first, so I dropped my pants to show him. Right on the lower crease where my butt cheek met my leg, there was a huge red and black bruise about an inch in diameter. At my feet, we found the flattened 22 slug about the diameter of a dime.
I turned to my friend who was directly across the pond from us and had his gun aimed to shoot again. My brother and I ran out of his line of sight and started screaming at him to stop. With all our carrying on, he finally saw us waving and shouting. I was so scared, I was screaming at him. I told him if he shot again, I was going to throw his gun into the pond. He didn't believe me until I showed him the evidence, and I don't think he really believed it then. Nevertheless, he quit shooting and we went back to planting. That evening when we got back to the house, I checked my pants. The hip pocket on my jeans had a hole through two layers of cloth and my skivvies had a hole in them too.
The welt on my butt was as big as a baseball. Luckily, I was a fat little kid and my butt had plenty of padding. There are lots of other places that bullet would have done some serious damage. It probably hit me in the best place it possibly could.
