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When I was 9 years old, I desperately hoped for the starring role of Mary in our church Christmas play, but one look at me and the director whispered, “I have the perfect part for you!” Two weeks later my hair was slicked back into a tight bun, I wore a beard, and my name was listed next to the title “Angry Innkeeper” in the printed show program. Instead of floating onto the stage as the beautifully pregnant Mary, I choked on my fake beard as my theatrical debut was relegated to shouting, “I ...