My town, the place I’ve called home for 23 years, has been in the spotlight for several days now after the tragic stabbing death of high school student Austin Metcalf.

He was in the stands of the only traditional football stadium in Frisco, under a pop-up tent, when an argument broke out. A student from another high school is accused of stabbing Austin in the chest, a blow that killed Austin as his twin brother held him.

Dozens of teenagers, athletes who were gathered for a district track meet, witnessed the event.

Of course, you know the story. It seems like the whole country knows the story, partly because people who don’t live here — and a few who do — weaponized what was already a heartbreaking situation.

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The worst of humanity lives on social media. Facebook, Reddit, X — they were all polluted with some of the most hateful messages I’ve ever read. There were calls for resegregation and the death penalty. The suspect, a Black teen accused of killing a white teen, was named an animal over and over again.

As a traumatized family, school and community were mourning the violent loss of Austin’s life, the fabric of our community seemed to unravel.

The 21st-century growth here has often centered on children. When my family moved here in 2002, there was one high school. Now there are 12. We never had to drive far for soccer or gymnastics, art lessons or swim lessons, summer science camps or year-round Scout meetings. Most neighborhoods have been built around walking trails, parks, playgrounds or community swimming pools.

Though there are 12 high schools, teens here have relationships all over town. You may have played flag football with kids in a different feeder pattern, or you go to church with kids from five other high schools, or you have friends who have friends from the school across town. The district’s Career and Technical Education Center pulls teens from all campuses, so if you’re taking Introduction to Engineering Design or Medical Microbiology, you’ll sit next to and work with students from other high schools.

We are a mecca for competitive sports, giving families the opportunity to spend thousands of dollars and countless hours a year on elite softball, baseball, volleyball, basketball, lacrosse, soccer, dance, cheerleading, fencing, hockey, badminton and tennis.

Not athletic? That’s OK — for a fee you can get expert guidance on advanced math, game development, violin, acting, creative writing, chess, robotics, cartooning and more.

We have created a shiny bubble, for better or worse.

That bubble fosters a sense of security, as if we live in a small town rather than a city of almost 240,000 people. We value and nurture our kids — not just those who live with us but those who live around us. Parents tend to build their social circles on their kids’ social circles, partly out of necessity and partly for the illusion of control. And even when you age out of PTA meetings and booster club functions, the connections remain. My own children, now 19 and 23, understood that no matter where they went in Frisco, there could be someone nearby who knew me — and would not hesitate to report shenanigans.

It’s easy to be lulled into thinking that the bubble will shield our cherished children from poor decisions or, at worst, irreversible violence.

That bubble, though, doesn’t protect us from the social issues that plague the country. Our children struggle with depression and anxiety, substance abuse and loneliness. They also deal with perfectionism and the weight of high expectations that come from families who expect their kids will perform well because they’ve been afforded the privileges that come with master-planned communities and new schools, frequent vacations and private lessons.

We are appropriately horrified that a young man was killed in this community. And yet, we need to acknowledge that we can’t shelter our children forever. In fact, we need to prepare them for life outside the bubble by modeling compassion and restraint. We can grieve Austin’s life and empathize with the people who love him while allowing the judicial process to take care of the suspect’s future.

When social media reveals the ugliness of human nature, we can offer grace. When pundits malign an entire group of people because of the actions of one, we can speak out. When our community starts to fray, we can take deliberate steps toward healing.

Our children are watching and listening. It’s our job to be adults.