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The calendar page turns. A new year, a new century, a new millennium unfolds amid the annoying hype that it will be so different from the one we leave behind. But the new year bears a question that's as old as the everlasting hills: Is there anything to hope for? Will the new century be truly new or just a weary repetition of the way things are? This New Year's Eve that question is oh-so personal. This, I believe, will be the year I watch my father take his last step.
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