Son Tyler took the S.A.T. today. Where he goes to college, and how much it's going to cost, depend in some measure on how he did. A lot of questions. A little anxiety. One calculater. Two sharpened number two pencils. One of his complaints was having to use said pencils. "Who uses pencils anymore?", he wondered. I know I would have gotten at least one question wrong: What does S.A.T. stand for? If you guessed Scholastic Aptitude Test, like me, you're wrong. The answer is the same as "For what does the "S" in Harry S. Truman stand?" (I'd've asked, "What does the "S" in Harry Truman stand for?", but, well, that whole "don't end your sentence in a preposition" thing's got me spooked). Yep. According to Wikipedia, S.A.T. stands for nothing.
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I was born in Montana, raised in Tampa, and reside in a small town in the lowcountry of South Carolina with the Lovely Lady Di, and son Tyler. Walterboro (the 'Boro) has about 5,100 residents. It's a moderately interesting place. I work in the public defender's office representing poor people charged with crimes. Some of them did it. Some of them didn't do it. Some are not very nice, a lot of them are just regular Joes with a huge plate of bad luck.
I'm a moderately interesting fellow, who has the good fortune to know or be related to some very interesting people. Is there anyone out there?
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