Here is what I remember. There wasn’t a specific moment when he stopped being my hero, though I suspect he held this title in my mind for the longest out of anyone. I clung to a kind of  unwavering belief in him - his words, knowledge, his very being - that when I suddenly saw his imperfections, they came at me all at once. Like hard, sharp knives looking to land in the soft, fleshy core of my beliefs. I saw them in his distracted attention, his stubborn insistences, his endless justifications. I saw the way his eyes flashed anger at those who questioned him, only to flash judgement at others who were quick to anger. What I once saw as an unfailing supply of facts, concrete knowledge, suddenly became riddled with bias, flaws, inaccuracy. The hypocrisy of his demands for perfection only showed me how he fell short. There’s this dark fury that winds through me now every time he stops to offer advice, knowledge, commentary. I’m so angry that he didn’t measure up to the God I’d so long believed him to be. In the end, it was too much to ask of anyone to never let me down.