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The old radio sat in the corner of our living room like a steady little sun, warm and alive, humming with a voice that somehow felt wiser than the world it spoke into. Paul Harvey didn’t just report the news — he carved meaning out of it. As a kid, I didn’t grasp the weight of what I was hearing. I just knew that when his voice filled the room, my mother would go still, eyes closed, listening as if someone were reading out the truth of the future. Back then, I assumed adults listened to the radio because it…
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