Imperfect

My friend Deborah Heiligman just asked: at what age did it occur to you that grown-ups weren't perfect. Here's my answer -- what's yours?

Me: I remember watching Nixon resign, in my (shag-carpeted, wood paneled) den. I had just turned 7. I said to my parents "He looks like he is lying." They nodded. My mind reeled. I wondered for the first time what it meant that even powerful grown-ups could LIE, and then, further, how far up the corruption of the adults went -- if the president could lie, perhaps even Mr. David Johnson, the principal of my elementary school, could lie. But each time I had that horrible thought I pushed it away. No way. Not Mr. Johnson. No. It couldn't go that far.