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When I wrote “Choosing Life,” I told you a little about my father’s father. Grandpop worked in a rivet factory and, after the war, got my father started in that business. He was an Irishman, and therefore charming, but he was a drunk. Every Friday night he spent his whole paycheck at the local bar. Grandpop also had a short fuse. One time, when another man at the bar made him angry, he knocked him unconcious with a single punch……

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