My dad and I didn't know each other much during my childhood, he and my mother having divorced when I was still very young. I lived with him in Colorado for one season when I was eleven.
We re-connected when I was about thirty, ten or so years before his death. By then, both of us had done stints in law enforcement, and he still had two handguns from those days, a Ruger Police Service Six and a Charter Arms Undercover (the latter being as old as I am.)
Today, that Charter will ride on my hip, and the Ruger will sit bedside.
(It was my second stepfather, whom my mother married when I was already sixteen years old, from whom my first gun came from. He and I didn't have much of a "father-son" relationship; he was more like a friend, and he sold me the gun, a Winchester 190 .22LR rifle. When he died a couple of years later, I let his son have it.)