My Dad always had two firearms in the house while I was growing up. A .22 rifle that was given to him by his sister when they were young . He used it to hunt rabbit and such in Alabama and a .22 caliber revolver he had bought in California after a bunch of hippies tried to run us off the road and harassed us for most of a day with what today would be called road rage. I was too young to remember any of it. The story goes that after trying to run us off some cannon roads he had them pulled over and was out of the car and about to go fight them, but instead, got back in the car saying nothing and slowly pulled away.
He explained he could tell they were cowards. Only one had gotten out of the other car and was trying to luwer him away from the car and into a fight. He could tell immediately that there was no way this punk would be willing to take me on unless he or one of his buddies had gun.
He liked 22s because he said you could easily hit just about anything just by aiming at it.
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