For years (and years and years), it had been a running joke in my marriage that I looked like a kid. We married young as it was, and with my youthful appearance I looked, in my rented tux, not so much like a groom as like a Charlie McCarthy ventriloquist doll. As the years went by, there was something about my face that continued to fool people into thinking I was younger than my years. Well into my thirties, people would frown when I told them the ages of my kids, and ask whether I had start ...

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