Profound sadness

I read in the paper today that my childhood next-door neighbor has been arrested on child molestation charges. He’s 71, and has the saddest looking mug shot that I’ve ever seen.

What the fuck?

Three thoughts come to mind:

1) You can never really know someone. (This is depressing enough.)

2) The man I knew would never do that. (My sister or I should have been a victim, at that rate, and neither of us were.)

3) It doesn’t really matter whether or not he did it; he’s going to have that mark on him for the rest of his life. (This is even more depressing.)

I value my honor (using whatever quirky definition I have in my head) above all else, and it blows my mind how quickly—and irrevocably—that can be taken away from you, regardless of whether or not you deserve it. My gut feeling is that there’s more to the story than the paper printed—that he’s an innocent man getting dragged through the mud—but I’m left feeling sick to my stomach either way.


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