Often, I was happy to be heading home. I missed my friends, Gigi, my bike, and television. At other times, especially when we visisted Glacier National Park, I was not eager to leave.
Glacier National Park, Montana, July 1966. Mom, Dad, and I are standing near the Swiftcurrent Motor Inn parking lot, from which we will launch our trip home. My facial expression here looks genuinely sad; it does not look contrived.
