Guilt.

As the boy exited the car, his father’s keys in his hand, I stared with a veiled contempt. The components of several well-known brands coming together to create a walking advertisement for a church of misguided beliefs. And he just thought his hair looked cool.

I don’t blame the child for buying in, or even the artist for selling out. I blame myself for not showing either any better, which in the end makes me worse than both.