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Ruger Super Bearcat (all blue).
It was my dad's and I was just a kid--maybe 12 at most. The little .22 fit my hand perfectly in those days.
The first time I shot it, we were camping and he and some of his biker buddies were throwing beer cans into a creek and trying to sink them as they floated past (not a politically correct bunch, and not great shots, either). My old man saw me watching and offered me a try.
I had no idea what sights were for or how to work a trigger. But I knew how to point at something and that's what I did.
One shot, one handed, and the beer can spun around and started to sink.
Pure luck, and I knew it, so I just handed the pistol back and went off to ride dirt bikes with the other kids. But from that day on, Dad always called it my gun.
I regret to say I swapped it for a Ruger Mk I years later.
And for the record, I no longer throw tin cans into creeks, shoot at bodies of water or hang around shooters who have been drinking.
I survived my youth (many decades ago) and no longer care to push my luck.
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