Why a Capital Murderer's Son Opposes the Death Penalty

Introduction: A Personal Stake in the Death Penalty Debate

The ongoing debate over the death penalty in the United States — applied to those convicted of capital crimes such as premeditated murder with aggravating circumstances, multiple premeditated murders, or the murder of a police officer — has continued as long as I can remember, and probably much longer. Many people hold strong, heartfelt opinions on the subject: whether the death penalty is good or bad, right or wrong, beneficial or harmful to society. These views are as varied and complex as crime itself. Opinions may spring from faith (the belief that no one but God should take a human life), a "get-even" mentality ("an eye for an eye"), personal or social fear, or simply ideas the media — television programs like Law and Order or America's Most Wanted — has planted in the public consciousness.

As the grown son of a convicted murderer, my opposition to the death penalty is personal. I know, for example, that: (1) life in prison without parole is worse than death; (2) life in prison without parole "evens the score" by creating a whole new set of deprived loved ones; and (3) life in prison without parole guarantees society's future safety.

Growing Up as a Murderer's Son

Now that I am the father of two girls, ages five and three — I was four when my own father "had to go away" — it feels like a kind of death to me when one of them skins her knee or has a sisterly quarrel with the other and cries. Since my girls have started walking, talking, and interacting with the world, I have been able to imagine the pain my father experienced knowing that his son was picked on regularly throughout school because of something he had done, and that he could do nothing to help — could not attend a parent-teacher conference or call other children's parents on the phone. My father is not without feelings; if anything, his feelings are too strong, and that is what got him into trouble.

As most adults recall in one way or another, childhood can be cruel to any child perceived as different. A misshapen finger or a slight limp can fuel malicious words, pranks, and ostracism. On my own, I was a reasonably well-behaved, bright, curious, clean-cut little kid with decent athletic skills and no physical or mental differences — I should have blended right in with my classmates, which was all I ever wanted. Even by first grade, however, I was "marked" by my so-called killer genes. Six-year-old girls feared me, and six-year-old boys wanted to beat me up — and usually did. Even teachers approached me cautiously, as though they needed to be careful lest I grow up to harm them. I was probably the only six-year-old who consciously practiced petting dogs and cats gently and handling fragile objects with care. By fourth grade, I was as socially marked as a leper — not by any choice of my own, but by a circumstance of birth over which I had no control.

Life Without Parole as the Harsher Punishment

This is precisely why I now believe that if society truly wants to punish capital murder, it should not let a convicted killer off easily with the death penalty. Instead, I recommend giving the murderer frequent, vividly descriptive reports — in handwritten letters, as my mother sent my father, which I can guarantee are read and re-experienced again and again until the paper falls apart — about his or her child's latest black eye, bloody nose, knocked-out front teeth, torn sleeves and ripped buttons on a brand-new shirt; about never getting picked for soccer or baseball; about being told there is "no room" in Cub Scouts or Little League; about never being invited to a sleepover; about eating lunch alone. That will be the murderer's "death of a thousand cuts" — actually, millions of them.

This is why I know that life in prison without parole is: (1) worse than death, because the person dies hundreds of times daily and soon actually yearns for death — yet cannot have its relief; and (2) more than sufficient to "even the score," because it creates a whole new set of deprived loved ones. I am one example, as is my mother, and now my little girls, who will never know their grandfather. For information on how life without parole functions as a sentencing alternative, researchers and advocacy organizations have documented its psychological dimensions in considerable depth.

Conclusion: The Death-in-Life That Keeps on Killing

For children of a convicted capital killer, life in prison without parole is like the Mark of Cain. Unfortunately, I have worn it all my life, wear it now, and have passed it on to my daughters. There is no need to worry about lifers without parole harming others on the outside. Even if my father had wished to strike out violently against any of the people who tormented my mother and me — and he did not — he would not have been permitted to write letters they would actually receive or reach them by telephone.

I am about to be deployed, so I recently mailed my father a new picture of his grandchildren. I am sure he has received it, and that after he read my brief enclosed note and saw his own wide smile beaming back at him from two beautiful little faces he has never caressed and never will, he died yet again. My father dies a lot, and always has. Actually, my father has been dead for years — he just keeps on dying. This is because my father received the real death penalty: the death-in-life that keeps on killing, then resurrecting the dead, only to kill him anew — a little differently each time — but without respite, without rest, without mercy.