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A Funny Thing My secret fell out from the cuff of my pants just as I walked up to take the award for best-dressed, most improved, fullest all-around role model for the underprivileged, old people and kids. Everyone stared at my secret, a pile near the podium set for me to speak. The clapping died down.There I stood, all khaki slacks and casual pullover, looking into thousands of eyes. I sidled up to the podium, adjusted the microphone. I wasn’t what they said I was. I never played football. I last made an honor roll in eighth grade. I learned history from Mad magazines, opera from LooneyToons, literature from the Beaver’s dad. I can’t even find the degree the college gave me. Busting my knee in the army kept me out of Korea and put me on a long road home, where the SUVs aren’t V-8s, aren’t even all-wheel drive. The plantations are neighborhoods. The bricks amount to a façade. I put everything on credit and haven’t the cash to back it up. I went on for hours. I must’ve offended someone, but no one sitting in the amphitheater 4 left. I drank all the water the podium people left for me and was still thirsty. The crowd walked out, looking intent, as if they had people of all ages to save. I picked up my secret from the stage and put it in my back pocket. Everyone knew what it was now. ...

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