I haven't gotten rid of very many, and of those, I regret only one, my first real gun, a Winchester Model 120 Ranger Youth 20 gauge pump shotgun. I'd asked my parents for a shotgun or .22 rifle every year since I was old enough to ask. On the Christmas just before I turned 12, my dad had my uncle pick this one out for me, and he delivered it to my grandparents' house. When we visited them after Christmas, my dad told me to take a look behind the door (this was back when most folks in the country still kept a rifle or shotgun in the corner behind a door). I had no idea what he was talking about, but when I looked behind the door, there it was. I still wasn't sure what was going on when I saw the gun, but then dad told me it was mine. That's easily the one material gift I've received that was both a complete surprise and that created real, unqualified joy when I received it. I outgrew it as a teenager, and after I turned 19 or so I traded it for a Remington .22 pump rifle. That Winchester wasn't the fanciest gun by any stretch, but I think of that gun a lot and how I wish I still had it so I could pass it down to my son.

Sigh.