Oddly enough, the neighbors surrounding the home in which I grew up would all maintain that they "knew" my family, and that my father was a good father, and my mother a wonderful woman. In reality, my father was (and is) a sociopathic monster and my mother, while a loving and good woman, completely destroyed by alcoholism--to the point that she could not care for herself, let alone her family. (You would not believe the anger and hatred my siblings and I received for openly stating this when she was dying---not to harm her, but so that her physicians would be prepared to properly care for her when she withdrew from alcohol; these "close" friends and family---who knew nothing of what went on in our house---severed ties with us, rather than accept what was the real truth. And my mother? She died as a result of the denial of others. My sibs and I survived the santimony spurred by our desire to protect her well-being; she did not.)
Please, do not believe you know anything about what really goes on in the homes of others.
If you do, you will surely assume that my children--who are well-loved, well cared-for, well provided-for, and lack nothing they require and little of what they desire--are abused. Because gosh darn it, they can look pretty grubby by the end of a day. (Ironically, growing up in a house of dysfunction, we were, by all appearances, perfect. Why? Because appearances were prized above everything else. If we looked good, no one would ask questions.)