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The Rescuer

I was walking the dogs this afternoon, and as I was looking up at the telephone poles along Post Road, a memory hit me. Sometime around the age of ten or so I had figured out what i wanted to be, not when I grew up, but pretty much right then. I wanted to rescue people. I wanted to wear my camouflage pants, my calculator watch, my green beret, and probably my canteen, and I wanted to rescue people. From what, I’m not sure, but bad guys would probably be involved. My transportation mode of choice? I figured, not yet being able to drive, that I could get by with a long rope, lassoing it around the tops of trees, buildings, and telephone poles, swinging my way through the countryside like Spider-Man, ready to help whoever needed it.

Didn’t happen.

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