For as long as I can remember, I have not been surprised to discover the horrifically worst in others. As a junior or senior in high school, when a kid who some of us knew from the chess club was accused of killing a child in his neighborhood, many of my friends rushed to form a "defense fund" in support of him. I joined from the inertia of our friendship, not from being convinced as so many of my peers were that he could never have done it. When his parents asked us to stop, my friends resisted their request, but I was quick to accede.
I later lamented that this whole incident represented a loss of innocence - or at least naivete - for us. But the truth is that mine was already gone. This was pre-that-Thanksgiving, but I'd already experienced enough brokenness and secrets that, while our depravity occasionally horrifies me, it almost never surprises me.
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