Shooting the shit with coworkers telling bad jokes. I repeated one I’d heard where the punchline was making fun of the mentally retarded (I’m not repeating it now) — coworker just smiled sadly and then went back to work. I found out his son has Downs Syndrome. It’s been 20 years and I’m as ashamed today as I was the second I said it.

But the kid is an adult now and by coincidence works at my grocery store even though I live in another town now. I always go through his line, and I feel my soul die a little every time he’s polite and helpful. I’ve never told him who I am, or that I worked with his dad, even knew his dad. Never will. Because I’m a piece of shit.

That was the day I learned how casually discriminating I was in my youth and how gross it is even now. I like to think I’m a better person now, but will I ever know for sure? That one’s on my permanent cosmic record. I can see my coworker’s sad smile without closing my eyes. The guilt is real.