To be a disabled child, or a disabled adult who needs supportive care, is to know that your life is literally in the hands of the people you rely on to love and care for you. And those people may well think that murdering you would be doing you a favor.
Sometimes I look for new articles or new developments in the case. I scroll through the comments to where people speculate that they were out in the woods, “doing what teenagers do.” As if they got what they deserved. My blood boils.
The next day, they arrested Paul. They didn’t really care about what happened to me, but they needed Paul’s fingerprints and they couldn’t get a court order for them. His fingerprint ended up matching a bloody fingerprint that was at the scene.
Collectively, mainstream media reporting has at once discounted Jovan Belcher's actions on account of his mental state and blamed Perkins for staying out too late -- as though Perkins could have brought her murder on herself.
I have written kind words to men who have done awful things: a drug-addicted man who stabbed an elderly couple to death when caught committing a burglary; a man who shot his girlfriend in the face; a man who shot a friend during an argument over a woman.
In 1984, in the quiet and modestly affluent suburb of Cape St. Clair, Maryland, a 17-year-old boy named Larry Swartz murdered both of his adoptive parents. In 1993, after serving nine years of his 12-year sentence, Larry was released from prison and came to live with us.
We went out and had a nice, big, happy family outing (My mom likes to speculate in retrospect that my dad was just gathering witnesses). Coming home exhausted, we all went to bed except my dad, who stayed up and got high.