When I was knee high to a grasshopper my Dad had to go on a business trip to the U.S. and Canada, and Mum persuaded him to take us with him. We went Ottawa, to Stoney Lake (where Dad caught a Chipmunk but couldn't get permission to take it home), and to Expo '67 in Montreal - where a policeman let me hold his loaded gun. Then it was back to New York.
At the time I was desperate for one of these:
...but you couldn't get one anywhere. Finally, after I wore her down with tantrums and pouting, my Mum found one at Schwarz - not on display, but kept hidden under the counter because of Vietnam.
Then: I was a bloodthirsty little git.
Now: with a few years under my belt I can't imagine anyone thinking of war as anything other than completely and utterly horrific.