Her name was Debbie. And from the first day of grade seven until the end of high school, she was the one. The one they all picked on. The one they made fun of, pushed, laughed at, hated.
I was the coward in the corner thanking Christ it wasn't me. I didn't actively participate. But I didn't help either.
When we studied the Holocaust and everyone in class thought they'd be terribly brave, I thought of Debbie. And I wondered.
Years have passed, but deep down I suspect that I am still that cowardly girl. That, if it came to it, I might not be able to be brave enough.
So every election, even when it's raining, I go out and I vote. I vote for fair play. I vote for human rights. I vote for the people who want to move us forward.
Democracy isn't perfect. Everyone says so, no matter what the details of their democracy happen to be.
It isn't perfect, but it sure beats wondering if I could ever be that brave.