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It was April and Tax Day was looming when an elderly woman showed up at my desk at the IRS. She said she required a thick stack of tax forms.
“Why so many?” I asked. “My son is overseas,” she said. “He asked me to pick up forms for the soldiers on the base.” “You shouldn’t have to do this,” I told her. “It’s the base commander’s job to make sure that his troops have access to the forms they need.” “I know,” she began, “I’m the base commander’s mother.”
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