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My first really clear memory of spending one-on-one time with my father was years ago when we were still living in Littleton, Colo. My father had just enrolled at Metropolitan State University in Denver to get his degree and in order to do research for an assignment he decided to go on a field trip. I went along for the ride.
Together, we went to a hillside that used to be, millions and millions of years ago, the bottom of a lake. The evidence was found along the slope. Dinosaur footprints were pressed into the surface like celebrity footprints.
I remember being in awe of this; that I was standing so near to the place where an enormous, scaly giant had lumbered through.
From there, we took a bike ride along C-470 highway.
I remember how all the lush green trees had made a sun-dappled pattern on the dirt path. The field trip also brought us to the Rooney Ranch, an old ranch in Colorado. While my dad spoke with the owner, I recall that his daughter kept offering me popsicles.
This memory remains vivid to me because I had so much fun. Hanging with my dad, just the two of us, was not a common occurrence.
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