As we did in Colorado, we searched for the old family home. My father's house was less than a block away from the Wyoming State Capitol building in Cheyenne, and was pretty easy to find.
|My father's home circa 1945|
Unlike the Roy A. Davis home in Colorado Springs, this modest home had not been lovingly cared for over the years, and had lost much of its original character in the process of modernization with vinyl siding and new windows. I remember small but well tended flower beds and planters around the house, but those are gone. Here's my dad standing in front of the house...
Cool duds huh? This picture was probably taken on Frontier Days in Cheyenne - the biggest rodeo in the west. I don't think my dad would be caught dead in a cowboy outfit at any other time, but I could be wrong. I knew him when he was a city guy.
Just to trace the father line back a bit further, here's a picture of my paternal grandfather, holding my dad in their backyard in Cheyenne...
...and another of Grandfather and my dad, with Grandmother looking on lovingly. What a lucky baby.
Those of us who have, or have had loving fathers in our lives are so fortunate.
They pass on so many things. In my case, a sense of adventure, for one. When I travelled to France as a teenager my father taught me one phrase, that translated as "I am never lost." So true. He passed that feeling on to me.
He gave me a sense of stability and security. I knew I could always turn and return to him.
He conveyed an appreciation for, and skills in the arts, music, writing - all aspects of culture.