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  • —Chapter 1— The Christmas Kids In mid-December 1971, Mrs. Erickson, a social worker in her late forties, drove up the winding road of LaCollina Drive in Beverly Hills, focusing on one thing: securing a home for my brother and me. We were five-year-old foster twins with learning and behavioral challenges. Despite being bounced from place

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  • It’s been a long journey, but it’s almost at its end. I’m not referring to my life—hopefully, I have many more years ahead—but rather to my memoir, a project I started over 17 years ago. While I’ve scrapped earlier versions and started from scratch more than once, this version feels final. The only step left

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