Dear Sandy, You may not even remember me. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t, but forty-seven years ago, you made a singular decision that forever changed my life. This letter is a long-overdue thank-you. I sure hope you get it. It was 1978 or 1979. That would make you about eleven or twelve. I was fourteen or fifteen. You had scraped together enough money to get your hair cut like Farrah Fawcett that spring or summer, but the style required upkeep. Your family was as poor