My love and appreciation of the mustache began at a young age, when I came across a picture of my dad taken in the early '70s. The photo was probably shot somewhere in New England, and Dad was leaning casually against the post of a wooden fence, decked out in bell-bottoms and a classic -- yet slightly unkempt -- handlebar mustache. A different incarnation of that mustache would show up a decade later when he was working in politics; groomed and polished, it had an air of seriousness, but was no less exuberant.
See also: - Movember in Denver - The ten most glorious and iconic mustaches of all time - Gentlemen, keep your mustaches: An open letter to the Durango Police Department