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Recently, I brought my six-year-old granddaughter, Brooke, with me on my trip to the recycling yard to dispose of a lawnmower and some other metal. There, we wandered around among the hundreds of cars that were waiting to be crushed. Most of them were missing parts, which had been removed for reuse in other cars.
Brooke said to me, “Poppa?” “Yes, Brooke,” I replied. “I’m not buying my first car here.”
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