I went fishing today, and carried a certain handgun. While dousing it and my knife with WD-40 (after being caught out in the boat by 2 thunderstorms), I smiled as I examined for the first time in quite awhile its silly little cylinder, and plain workmanlike construction.

I only carry this gun when the risk of engagement is low AND the options for concealment are limited OR risk of engagement is low and circumstances don't warrant risking injury to my usual hip-baby, a ParaOrdnance 12.45 (3.5" barrel slap hammer DAO 12 + 1 .45 ACP). I carry the gun in question every Sunday, in an ankle holster, because I have a position in my church which calls for me to wear vestments reaching from my neck to my ankles, and I just don't think I'm up to walking straight with a steel-frame hi-cap .45 strapped to one leg. My only carry options are ankle hosters, shoulder holsters, and hand-carry (which would upset lots of white-haired old ladies). According to the tradition in which I worship, the office I hold implies responsibility for the person of the officiant (priest or occasionally deacon) and the parish's valuables (silver, mostly); not that it matters. I packed in the pew the same as I do at the hardware store.

Anyway, I have an ankle holster that fits this little revolver. I can walk with it without limping. If I am close enough to see for myself that someone needs shooting, I can K5 him with it.

What is it? It's a Llama 6-shot .32 S&W long revolver with a ~1 7/8" bbl. Piece of crap, in all likelihood, unless somebody is using it to do a cylinder dump to your thorax. It's ~30+ years old.

Why is the crappy little gun special? Well my Granddad, who raised me, was a Homicide Detective. The genuine creme de la creme. A man at the top of a profession that demands the very best of intellect, street smarts, and instinct. He was a man I think to be quite literally beyond compare. He had an 8th grade education, but became the most feared and respected lawman in the county, and taught me the lessons I value most. He was a prizefighter, a Bible scholar (which I respected even when I was an infidel), a church deacon and founder, and a functional auto mechanic, electrician, plumber, and physician. (I have the scars to prove the last one, but I'm still alive. ) He was married to one woman in his life, and stayed married to her for more than 65 years. When they tied the knot, anybody in America could buy a Thompson through the mail for about $225; when he died, the Moon landing was old, boring news and you could fly to Paris for a week's wages as a supermarket bagboy. He and his wife absolutely adored each other. They served each other like they were hired laborers. They honored each other other like each was a commoner married to the leader of an empire. When they were together, they bathed the room in a soft glow of holiness and goodness.

So, again, why is the crappy little gun special? The gun was carried every day (literally for as long as I can remember) as a last defense against the evil that haunts this world. The grips are worn with handling - with sudden graspings in the dead of night; with surreptitious touching when a traffic stop in a distant state didn't smell quite right; with the daily transit from a spot under the pillow to a spot near the awakened hand, day after day, for decades. The crappy little gun is very special and dear to me for one reason. It was my Grandmother's CCW for about as long as I have been alive.

Thanks for sharing.   A little long...but worth reading to the last sentence which I guess was the point.

Go grandma!  I wish my wife felt the same way (she's not opposed to guns, but doesn't want to ever carry).

cool story!

Sounds like your grandfather was a good man.  Too few of those around now days.

h=85%

He was married to one woman in his life, and stayed married to her for more than 65 years. When they tied the knot, anybody in America could buy a Thompson through the mail for about $225; when he died, the Moon landing was old, boring news and you could fly to Paris for a week's wages as a supermarket bagboy. He and his wife absolutely adored each other. They served each other like they were hired laborers. They honored each other other like each was a commoner married to the leader of an empire. When they were together, they bathed the room in a soft glow of holiness and goodness.

With all the condemning of marriage on this board, this has been a refreshing post.

Neat story.

You gonna send it to American Rifleman for the 'Favorite Firearms' section?

The more I read your posts, the more I think you and I would get along very well. Perhaps one day, we can meet up and I will gladly buy you the drink of your choice for some of the stories I'm sure you hold.

Yep, nice story. Hang on to that one and pass it along to another family member when it's time.

Your grandfolks sound like they were great people.
I agree with vanilla_gorilla you sound like the kind of guy I could hang out with (And I am a old grump!)

Come on man! You can't whip up a post like this and not show some pics! All the stupid things members post pictures and you leave them out of this post!

Ugly things that have a good story as to why they are ugly become cool!

Great story, thanks for sharing it.  

Thanks so much.  It sounds like your grandparents had a great life together.  Keep that little .32 in good working order and someday your grandchildren will have a real family treasure to enjoy.