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On-the-job injury and “What if . . .?”

The injury happened in an instant and just a second after that I felt embarrassed, silly, and dumb. I’d dropped the mail into the post box by the door, up one reasonable step from the sidewalk leading to the stoop. Pivoting around on my left foot, I straightened myself out and stepped down with my right foot. My leg turned to spaghetti.

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Years of unlearning black and white

When I was fifteen years old, white and dumb, I landed my first job that paid hourly wages. Two summers caddying at a snooty country club was about enough for me. It was four miles from home. I had to walk that eight-mile round trip to earn $5 for a round. Since I wasn’t working for professionals, a loop on the course might take four hours. Some days I toted two bags for $10. Other days I carried two rounds.

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