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A number of years ago I got a phone call from a reader with a request.
He said he was 90 years old and had outlived two wives, yet he wasn’t sure he knew what real love is and he hoped that I could explain it.
I don’t know if he’s still one of my readers -- I haven’t heard from him since that one time. But if he is, here’s my best answer to his question:
When I was in middle school, I loved red-haired Paul Minardi with all my 13-year-old heart. We passed notes in class and he walked me to homeroom, carrying my books.

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