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When I returned home to Ohio for visits from Connecticut, where I had moved for a job in the late 1980s, my sisters would make fun of me for locking my car.
Since 1966, when I was almost 4, we lived in the small town of Convoy, Ohio. Population about 1,000, during my childhood. There was very little crime at the time; the most egregious incidents I recall being curse words spray-painted on the stop sign downtown. (I remember one that started with “f,” but my mom wouldn’t tell me what it meant.)
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