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I wore no wig, no makeup, no heels—just the dress, set off by the full beard I wore at the time.
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I devised an ingenious way to break the arrangement to my mom. Or so I thought.
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We watched the events of 9/11 with a kind of detached horror, since we didn’t personally know any of the victims. Or did we?
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It’s not just the outcome I’m unhappy with. It's also undemocratic.
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The sauce was a perfect blend of mayonnaise, summer vacation, Tom Terrific, rainbows, and ambrosia.
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We wore multiple hats because we had to, but we also thought we could do anything and no one was there to tell us we couldn’t.
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Why my friends had to drag me to the rifle range, and why I kept coming back.
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The drab, cavernous room reeked of sweat and hormones. Then the DJ mounted the steps to the stage.
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"It's really a blast," I wrote in my travel diary. That was high praise in 1966.
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Upon reaching the age of three, what does a little boy expect from his dad?
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Trading Places
Prompted By Trick or Treat?
/ Stories

Cohabitation
Prompted By What My Mother Told Me
/ Stories

Bounceback
Prompted By 9/11 Twenty Years Later
/ Stories

The Electoral College, Redux
Prompted By Quick Take: How Is This Still a Thing?
/ Stories
Written in response to Article II, Section 1

Secret Sauce
Prompted By Drive-Ins
/ Stories
Written in response to Forbidden Fruit

It Doesn’t Have a Name Yet
Prompted By Theater
/ Stories

Sharpshooter
Prompted By Guns Then and Now
/ Stories

The Pixies Three
Prompted By Concerts
/ Stories

Catching the Waves
Prompted By Beaches
/ Stories

Upon Reaching the Age of Three, by Myron Unger
Prompted By Father's Day
/ Stories
