John,
We were never particularly close; in fact, I always thought you were kind of a tool. You were the stereotypical jock, swaggering down the halls of the school as if you owned the joint; that in and of itself gave me a strong distaste for you. But the biggest reason I hated you was your classroom demeanor. You consistently derided the thoughts and ideas of other students without ever putting yourself out there and letting people know your own notions. It played well into that athletic bravado personality you wore, but to me it was like nails on a chalkboard. The day we almost got into a fist fight after class because I had the audacity to call you on your bad behavior is still seared into my mind. (I know this is a bizarre way to begin a letter of apology folks, but please roll with me for a moment.)
Shortly after I moved home after my enlistment in the Marine Corps ended, you made the news... more accurately, the death of your son made the news. Junior's body was found in the creek, within a couple of blocks of where I was living at the time. You were under the umbrella of suspicion - if not by the cops, then by the people of our home town.
Fast forward two decades, when I read that there had been an arrest in your son's murder. I don't remember the guy's name, but that's not important. What's important is that it wasn't you. For twenty years, I believed that you were not only capable of taking your own boy's life, but that you actually did it. I convicted you, not based on evidence, but on your boorish behavior as a high school boy. I was part of the mob that wanted to burn you before the evidence was in.
I've been thinking about your innocence since hearing the news, and realizing how your life has literally been a made-for-TV movie. I look at my own daughter, who is roughly the same age your son would be, and I can't imagine the hell you've experienced. You lost your baby. Your community (wrongly) convicted you. You left town and started over, ostensibly building a life for yourself thousands of miles away from where the horror occurred. I suspect that you found a measure of happiness, but your son was never far from your heart. And then, years after you had resigned yourself to the fact that your baby's killer would never be found, it happened... an arrest, based on DNA evidence. And now, I suspect the wound has been reopened. This kind of thing shouldn't happen to anybody.
John, for what it's worth, I am sorry for being part of the masses who wrongly convicted you. I apologize for callously believing that you took your boy's life. I regret that I couldn't look beyond my own petty animosity. Despite our differences in the past, you deserve better. You deserve better from me, and you deserve better from your former community.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
An Open Note to my Brother-in-Law
Steve,
Broken hearts suck. Right about now, you’re probably going through the motions of living, but you feel like you’re having an out of body experience. You wish that you could just go to sleep for a couple of months, but the sleep won’t come. When it finally does come, it’s not because it’s bedtime; bedtime has long passed. You fall into a fitful state of half-consciousness out of sheer exhaustion. The first couple of times you don’t dream at all, and you wake more tired than if you hadn’t slept at all. The next couple of times the dreams are as vivid and memorable as a movie, but you’re still exhausted. When you want to cry, the tears won't come. When the waterworks start, they're unpredictable... sometimes it's a quick tear and a wistful sniffle. Othertimes, you want to quit and just can't. I’m sorry you need to experience this.
When you’re not sleeping, you’re alternating between avoidance and obsession. You want to take your mind off of the situation, so you play video games, but that hot chick in GTA IV with the nice rack inexplicably reminds you of her. Every song, movie, article of clothing, and street corner somehow draws out a long-dormant memory of how it used to be. Then you obsess and start to wonder what you could have done differently. You want to ask her questions to find out what you did wrong. I’ve felt your pain.
You’ve probably realized that things would be easier if she were dead. At least then, you wouldn’t have to worry about running into her at (insert location here). You wouldn’t have thoughts of revenge… the incessant desire to try to win her back… you wouldn't wonder if she’s already found somebody new. Your friends, in a desperate attempt to cheer you up, tell you to hang tough, but the words ring hollow. They tell you they’re sorry, but you feel like you’re the first one who’s experienced this pain. Life sucks right now.
It’s funny how you had never realized how appropriate the term “broken heart” actually is. Even when you’re at your happiest, (no, least unhappy more accurately describes how you feel) your heart still feels heavy and slightly numb. Your stomach feels full of rocks. The butterflies you felt when you first met have turned to big, hairy moths. You forget to eat, and then you gorge yourself, if the knot in your belly will relax long enough to let food pass your esophagus. Even drinking a glass of water is a chore.
You intellectually realize that it will get better, but that doesn’t make it suck any less right now. You somehow know that you will be a bit stronger when this passes, but that’s no consolation today. You know that a broken heart is part of life, and that virtually everyone has experienced this before, but you still feel alone. I’m not going to give you hollow words of encouragement, but I am going to let you know that I’ve felt your pain, and tell you that you can give me a shout if you need to.
Broken hearts suck. Right about now, you’re probably going through the motions of living, but you feel like you’re having an out of body experience. You wish that you could just go to sleep for a couple of months, but the sleep won’t come. When it finally does come, it’s not because it’s bedtime; bedtime has long passed. You fall into a fitful state of half-consciousness out of sheer exhaustion. The first couple of times you don’t dream at all, and you wake more tired than if you hadn’t slept at all. The next couple of times the dreams are as vivid and memorable as a movie, but you’re still exhausted. When you want to cry, the tears won't come. When the waterworks start, they're unpredictable... sometimes it's a quick tear and a wistful sniffle. Othertimes, you want to quit and just can't. I’m sorry you need to experience this.
When you’re not sleeping, you’re alternating between avoidance and obsession. You want to take your mind off of the situation, so you play video games, but that hot chick in GTA IV with the nice rack inexplicably reminds you of her. Every song, movie, article of clothing, and street corner somehow draws out a long-dormant memory of how it used to be. Then you obsess and start to wonder what you could have done differently. You want to ask her questions to find out what you did wrong. I’ve felt your pain.
You’ve probably realized that things would be easier if she were dead. At least then, you wouldn’t have to worry about running into her at (insert location here). You wouldn’t have thoughts of revenge… the incessant desire to try to win her back… you wouldn't wonder if she’s already found somebody new. Your friends, in a desperate attempt to cheer you up, tell you to hang tough, but the words ring hollow. They tell you they’re sorry, but you feel like you’re the first one who’s experienced this pain. Life sucks right now.
It’s funny how you had never realized how appropriate the term “broken heart” actually is. Even when you’re at your happiest, (no, least unhappy more accurately describes how you feel) your heart still feels heavy and slightly numb. Your stomach feels full of rocks. The butterflies you felt when you first met have turned to big, hairy moths. You forget to eat, and then you gorge yourself, if the knot in your belly will relax long enough to let food pass your esophagus. Even drinking a glass of water is a chore.
You intellectually realize that it will get better, but that doesn’t make it suck any less right now. You somehow know that you will be a bit stronger when this passes, but that’s no consolation today. You know that a broken heart is part of life, and that virtually everyone has experienced this before, but you still feel alone. I’m not going to give you hollow words of encouragement, but I am going to let you know that I’ve felt your pain, and tell you that you can give me a shout if you need to.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
I Don't Support Action in Syria
Hot topic of the day... it looks like the US will be getting involved in the Syrian civil war. I do not support our involvement because we just don't belong there. At some point, we need to admit that we can't be the world's police. Eventually, we need to acknowledge that we shouldn't "help" people who don't want our assistance. Someday, we need to understand that the enemy of our enemy is not necessarily our friend. Ultimately, we must concede that not everyone thinks like we do; not everyone shares our values. The Middle East has been a hotbed of violence for centuries. They do not place the same value on human life that we do. We've got to admit this, and let them fight it out for themselves.
If you agree with me, please contact your legislators and let them know. To make it easier for you, I am including a link to help you find your congressman and senators, and I am providing sample text that you can simply cut and paste. I am not naive enough to believe that there's never a good enough reason to go to war. I do, however, believe that we don't have enough reason to join THIS war.
I'm not a huge fan of Glen Beck, but this video of his pretty much explains why I don't support our involvement in Syria.
Find your House Representative
Find your Senator
Sample Text:
I am writing to ask you to vote against authorizing any military action in Syria. I understand that war is occasionally a necessary evil, but we have spent enough money, time, and human life trying to improve the lives of those who hate us. At some point, we need to realize that we cannot be the world's police. Eventually, we must understand that not everyone thinks like us. Sometime, we have to acknowledge that the enemy of our enemy is not necessarily our friend. Please, let our military involvement in the Middle East end here.
If you agree with me, please contact your legislators and let them know. To make it easier for you, I am including a link to help you find your congressman and senators, and I am providing sample text that you can simply cut and paste. I am not naive enough to believe that there's never a good enough reason to go to war. I do, however, believe that we don't have enough reason to join THIS war.
I'm not a huge fan of Glen Beck, but this video of his pretty much explains why I don't support our involvement in Syria.
Find your House Representative
Find your Senator
Sample Text:
I am writing to ask you to vote against authorizing any military action in Syria. I understand that war is occasionally a necessary evil, but we have spent enough money, time, and human life trying to improve the lives of those who hate us. At some point, we need to realize that we cannot be the world's police. Eventually, we must understand that not everyone thinks like us. Sometime, we have to acknowledge that the enemy of our enemy is not necessarily our friend. Please, let our military involvement in the Middle East end here.
Monday, August 5, 2013
Drama Update
Believe it or not, it's been relatively quiet since my daughter's run-in (run-over?) with the ex boyfriend. Her ankle is slowly but surely mending. She just got her second cast put on. Initially, she had a temporary cast of some sort, but that was designed as a short-term splint. After a couple of days her swelling decreased enough for her to get a real cast. That was fine until she decided that she needed to take a shower. Despite wrapping her leg and cast in saran wrap, the cast got wet, which ruined it, so she got another one put on today. Her wrist must be doing well, because she's never complaining about that. In fact, she's spending more time complaining about her good foot being sore from hopping around on it all the time. (Remember, she can't use crutches because of the broken wrist.) I think she has a minor sprain in the good foot.
Her ex has managed to stay in the spotlight though. A week after running over my daughter, he got another domestic assault charge run against him. Since he's staying with his parents, the logical victim would be his mother, father or younger sister, but I haven't yet found out for certain. Either way, when there's a domestic assault, a no-contact order is automatically filed. The victim has asked to have the no-contact order lifted. Somebody's a slow learner. Oh yeah... he also had a bench warrant issued for his arrest. I haven't figured things out with 100% certainty, but here's what I surmise... He was released on bail a while back for a First Degree Theft charge. I suspect that a condition of his bail required that he stay out of trouble. The county prosecutors found out that he's been in trouble again (and again), and told the judge, who revoked his bail, and required him to post another $10,000. He was arrested when he appeared in court regarding the no contact order with my daughter. We all got to see him arrested, and he had to attend the hearing in handcuffs.
To bring you all up to speed, he's now been brought up on four sets of charges in the last three months... three assaults and a felony theft. This guy is rapidly losing any semblance of self control. I fully expect that he'll be in jail for AT LEAST some of this. This may sound a bit odd, but I'm kind of torn. As a Christian, I want to forgive him. I want to help him. But I'm realistic enough to know that I can't help him because he doesn't want to help himself; besides the part of me wanting to forgive him is a tiny minority. The overwhelming majority of me is taking sadistic delight in watching him self-destruct, waiting to see how the courts treat him, knowing that whatever he gets, it will be less than I believe he deserves... secretly wishing that I lived in a slightly less enlightened day, where I could have rounded up a posse and given him a bit of frontier justice.
Her ex has managed to stay in the spotlight though. A week after running over my daughter, he got another domestic assault charge run against him. Since he's staying with his parents, the logical victim would be his mother, father or younger sister, but I haven't yet found out for certain. Either way, when there's a domestic assault, a no-contact order is automatically filed. The victim has asked to have the no-contact order lifted. Somebody's a slow learner. Oh yeah... he also had a bench warrant issued for his arrest. I haven't figured things out with 100% certainty, but here's what I surmise... He was released on bail a while back for a First Degree Theft charge. I suspect that a condition of his bail required that he stay out of trouble. The county prosecutors found out that he's been in trouble again (and again), and told the judge, who revoked his bail, and required him to post another $10,000. He was arrested when he appeared in court regarding the no contact order with my daughter. We all got to see him arrested, and he had to attend the hearing in handcuffs.
To bring you all up to speed, he's now been brought up on four sets of charges in the last three months... three assaults and a felony theft. This guy is rapidly losing any semblance of self control. I fully expect that he'll be in jail for AT LEAST some of this. This may sound a bit odd, but I'm kind of torn. As a Christian, I want to forgive him. I want to help him. But I'm realistic enough to know that I can't help him because he doesn't want to help himself; besides the part of me wanting to forgive him is a tiny minority. The overwhelming majority of me is taking sadistic delight in watching him self-destruct, waiting to see how the courts treat him, knowing that whatever he gets, it will be less than I believe he deserves... secretly wishing that I lived in a slightly less enlightened day, where I could have rounded up a posse and given him a bit of frontier justice.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
You Can’t Make this Sh*t Up, Part XII
Epilogue
This may sound like the end of the story, but it’s just the beginning. My daughter is racking up several thousand dollars in medical bills. She can’t work. She may have to drop out of school, and will be unable to recoup that financial loss. Furthermore, it’s time to get a formal custody agreement. They were unpleasant and impossible to deal with in the best of circumstances. I can only imagine how ugly things are going to get while this all plays out. Unfortunately for them, they chose to fuck with the wrong family. We don’t give up, and we have a lot more influence around town than they seem to think.
Author's Note: You Can’t Make this Sh*t Up is a factual story, broken into twelve installments for easy reading. I am writing the story primarily for the benefit of my friends... specifically those friends who wanted to know what was going on, but remained silent, allowing me to focus on the emergency at hand. Thanks to all of you who prayed for us, or sent words of encouragement. You can go directly to any of these installments by clicking below...
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
Part XII
This may sound like the end of the story, but it’s just the beginning. My daughter is racking up several thousand dollars in medical bills. She can’t work. She may have to drop out of school, and will be unable to recoup that financial loss. Furthermore, it’s time to get a formal custody agreement. They were unpleasant and impossible to deal with in the best of circumstances. I can only imagine how ugly things are going to get while this all plays out. Unfortunately for them, they chose to fuck with the wrong family. We don’t give up, and we have a lot more influence around town than they seem to think.
Author's Note: You Can’t Make this Sh*t Up is a factual story, broken into twelve installments for easy reading. I am writing the story primarily for the benefit of my friends... specifically those friends who wanted to know what was going on, but remained silent, allowing me to focus on the emergency at hand. Thanks to all of you who prayed for us, or sent words of encouragement. You can go directly to any of these installments by clicking below...
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
Part XII
You Can’t Make this Sh*t Up, Part XI
Reunion
Around noon on Wednesday, 48 hours after getting run over and six days after the original “visitation” started, my daughter was reunited with her son. They were discovered hiding out at the great-grandparents’ house in a small town about 20 miles away. Once they were located, they were given the opportunity to voluntarily return the baby to my daughter. The grandfather brought the baby to the local police station, where we met with DHS to make sure that there were no apparent injuries. Baby is now safe and sound with his mother, who is recovering from her injuries.
Author's Note: You Can’t Make this Sh*t Up is a factual story, broken into twelve installments for easy reading. I am writing the story primarily for the benefit of my friends... specifically those friends who wanted to know what was going on, but remained silent, allowing me to focus on the emergency at hand. Thanks to all of you who prayed for us, or sent words of encouragement. You can go directly to any of these installments by clicking below...
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
Part XII
Around noon on Wednesday, 48 hours after getting run over and six days after the original “visitation” started, my daughter was reunited with her son. They were discovered hiding out at the great-grandparents’ house in a small town about 20 miles away. Once they were located, they were given the opportunity to voluntarily return the baby to my daughter. The grandfather brought the baby to the local police station, where we met with DHS to make sure that there were no apparent injuries. Baby is now safe and sound with his mother, who is recovering from her injuries.
Author's Note: You Can’t Make this Sh*t Up is a factual story, broken into twelve installments for easy reading. I am writing the story primarily for the benefit of my friends... specifically those friends who wanted to know what was going on, but remained silent, allowing me to focus on the emergency at hand. Thanks to all of you who prayed for us, or sent words of encouragement. You can go directly to any of these installments by clicking below...
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
Part XII
You Can’t Make this Sh*t Up, Part X
Out and Running
Later that day, he was released on bail. Baby daddy and his parents left town with the baby. During this process, I specifically told everyone involved that I believed they’d bolt with the baby. Apparently they didn’t believe me. The local police department once again proved themselves not up to the task of retrieving my grandson. They stopped by the trailer, but no cars were there and nobody answered. We didn’t find this out until my daughter called the police department. They said “don’t worry, we’ll keep driving by.” The next morning, she once again called, asking “Where’s my baby!?!” The police said they didn’t know anything yet, and asked if my daughter knew any other places where they might be. That’s right; they didn’t do ANY of their own investigating. They didn’t do ANYTHING to stay in touch with the panicked mother, and they didn’t ask ANY of these basic questions until long after they were ordered to bring my grandson back to his mother.
Author's Note: You Can’t Make this Sh*t Up is a factual story, broken into twelve installments for easy reading. I am writing the story primarily for the benefit of my friends... specifically those friends who wanted to know what was going on, but remained silent, allowing me to focus on the emergency at hand. Thanks to all of you who prayed for us, or sent words of encouragement. You can go directly to any of these installments by clicking below...
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
Part XII
Later that day, he was released on bail. Baby daddy and his parents left town with the baby. During this process, I specifically told everyone involved that I believed they’d bolt with the baby. Apparently they didn’t believe me. The local police department once again proved themselves not up to the task of retrieving my grandson. They stopped by the trailer, but no cars were there and nobody answered. We didn’t find this out until my daughter called the police department. They said “don’t worry, we’ll keep driving by.” The next morning, she once again called, asking “Where’s my baby!?!” The police said they didn’t know anything yet, and asked if my daughter knew any other places where they might be. That’s right; they didn’t do ANY of their own investigating. They didn’t do ANYTHING to stay in touch with the panicked mother, and they didn’t ask ANY of these basic questions until long after they were ordered to bring my grandson back to his mother.
Author's Note: You Can’t Make this Sh*t Up is a factual story, broken into twelve installments for easy reading. I am writing the story primarily for the benefit of my friends... specifically those friends who wanted to know what was going on, but remained silent, allowing me to focus on the emergency at hand. Thanks to all of you who prayed for us, or sent words of encouragement. You can go directly to any of these installments by clicking below...
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X
Part XI
Part XII
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