My sophistication is not native. If it was native, I’d be drinking canned beer in the back of a pickup truck at the end of a dirt road somewhere right now. I’d be pushing paper at the mill, or waiting tables at Jolly Judy’s. I worked for my sophistication, I studied, and read, and buckled down, while my friends were out drinking milkshakes and eating burgers. My own parents teased me for my efforts. So, no, Mr. Winter, nothing about me is native. What you see, I invented myself.”
