Exactly twenty years ago today, on December 28, 1992, I went back to the pawn shop in a small town in Alabama, laid down four portraits of Benjamin Franklin, and left the proud owner of a Gen 2 Glock 17 pistol, which I named Bruce.

It took me a few weeks to decide what pistol to buy, then to find this one. Thanks to the Brady law, I had to wait at least five days to pick it up, after filling out the background check paperwork.

My next stop was the shooting range, where I got the break of a lifetime.

I’ve written about this purchase before, and I’ve reviewed it here, and told of its extended life here.

It’s on my hip right now.

Happy Anniversary, Bruce!