Note: I originally wrote and posted this on ricochet.com in July of 2016. That post is behind the paywall, so I publish it here for anyone to read.
I was sitting in the park, eating a Subway sandwich, and shooting the breeze with a good friend, when, out of nowhere, came the call no parent ever wants to hear. As parents, my wife and I have been through the wringer. We had a child come in to our home at 5 months old, and be taken from us at 4 years old, to be given back to his parents, who’d abused him. We have a daughter who was born with a congenital disorder that had her in Children’s Hospital within 24 hours of being born, and in surgery at 4 months old. We’ve had three miscarriages.
One of our kids was molested by a teenage neighbor. Our younger daughter suffered from seizures. Our oldest once rolled his Chevy Blazer, nearly killing himself. But nothing really prepared us for what happened that Sunday five weeks ago. Our son has been doing the young 20-something thing for a while now. Drinking to excess, partying, hanging around people we didn’t think he should be hanging around with. I guess you would say we had expected a call of some kind, the most likely being that he’d been arrested for drinking and driving. He went through a very difficult breakup the last year, and then his grandfather, who he was very close to, died after they’d had a big fight without any opportunity to clear the air. What follows is the story, as it unfolded from my perspective.
My son called my phone; it was on vibrate and I didn’t notice it ringing. Then he called my wife’s phone, she answered and he immediately asked for me. Whenever he asks for me, you know something is up. I could tell from the sound in his voice that something was terribly wrong. “I think I’ve gotten myself in to a sticky situation,” he said. “Some friends and I went to a party last night, and we ended up bringing a woman back to my apartment. And there were a couple of dudes at the party, who tried to pick a fight with us, but we left. Well, at my apartment some consensual stuff happened, and then I took the girl home, but now the two dudes who were at the party showed up and tried to push their way in through the door. I had my gun, and they saw it, and took off. But now I think they are outside and they called the cops, so I’m not sure what to do.” I said “Hang up, call 911, explain the situation, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”
When I arrived, there were cops everywhere. He lives in an apartment above some shops on the main drag in our little town, and you get access to the apartments from the alley. Driving back there I saw at least a half dozen law enforcement vehicles, and a dozen heavily armed police officers. There were local city cops, sheriffs, border patrolmen, even police from the neighboring town. I parked well away, and approached the closest office on foot. I explained the call I’d received from my son, and he told me to wait, that he’d talk to the officer in charge.
After a few minutes, the officer in charge approached and we chatted for a few minutes. He said that there had been reports of a man on the roof with a gun, which was why there were so many officers. He said that he was arresting my son, and that he couldn’t tell me much more. I asked what I should do, and if he would have a chance to call us. The officer said to go home, that he’d get a chance to call. So I went home and waited. That was at 1 pm. By 7 pm we’d not heard anything. So we decided to drive to the police station, and see what we could find out. On our way, my son called, not from the local police station, but from the county jail. He said that he’d been booked in to the jail on a charge of rape in the second degree. The woman he and his buddies took home with him claimed that they held her at gun point and raped her.
Now, what you need to understand about me is that, aside from a minor run-in with the law when I was about 20, in Germany, and a couple of speeding tickets, I have no experience dealing with being arrested, nor with being charged with something, nor with going to jail, nor posting bail, nor getting a lawyer. None. I had thought that my son was being arrested for brandishing a weapon, and that he’d maybe be held for questioning then released. Now, on the very same weekend that social media is going berserk about a six-month sentence for a Stanford student convicted of rape, I’m learning that my son is being charged with essentially the same crime. I told him to hang tight, to cooperate with the sheriff’s deputies, to try to find out about a public defender, and to call me the following morning if he could. I hung up the phone. Then I lost it. “How are we here?” I asked my wife.
The following morning I spent an hour dithering about what to do. I was sure that my son had not committed this crime. I had asked him on the phone “Is there any chance that you guys were screwing around with your firearm, and she interpreted that as a threat?” “No chance, he said.” “Is there a possibility that she was so drunk she didn’t know what was going on, and couldn’t give proper consent?” “No, she never passed out, she knew what she was doing.” He said. Even so, I thought that at best she had been drinking too much, consented to something under the influence, then the following morning regretted what she had done. And it simply doesn’t look good for three guys to take a young woman back to an apartment. All I could imagine was that my son was about to learn a very, very brutal lesson about being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and making poor decisions. He was going to prison, I thought. I don’t see how it goes any other way in this culture in which men are pigs, and women never lie about sex.
But unlike a dad who can send his kid to Stanford, I didn’t have the money to hire a big fancy Seattle lawyer, as much as I might want to. I started googling criminal defense lawyers in my area, and that was even more discouraging. I felt like every advertisement was Saul Goodman, by some other name. I spoke with my boss about it, because I knew at the least I’d need to be at the regularly scheduled hearing on Monday. My boss happened to know about a criminal defense lawyer in town with a good reputation, so I gave them a call. I was surprised at how helpful they were. Again, I have no experience in this type of thing, but they walked me through what needed to be done, and what they’d do. The biggest relief was that they would call my son in jail and get his side of the story. I asked him later how he felt when he heard from the lawyer, and he said it was a huge relief.
After reviewing everything, the lawyer’s office called and informed me that one of their partners would be at the hearing at 3 pm, and that the bail and been “preset” at $60,000. “But” she said, “since he doesn’t have a criminal history, we are going to try to argue that way down. Given the charges, it’s not surprising how high it is, but we’ll see what we can do.” She let me know what the process normally looks like for that first hearing, how the court was setup, that I could speak on my son’s behalf if I wanted to. So that Monday, at 3 pm, I was seated at the back of the court room in the Whatcom County Court House. The lawyers office had said the case would likely get called toward the end, if not last, so we might be in for a long wait. In fact, his case was called third. I approached the front of the room, and my son was on a video monitor, with his new lawyer, dressed in a kelly green jumpsuit.
The lawyer from the prosecutor’s office read off the narrative the girl had told the police. The judge asked a few questions, then asked the defense attorney to speak. He spoke a few words, basically just reiterating that “my client” disputes all charges and says the girl is lying. Then the judge looked at me and asked me who I was, and what I had to add.
I would love to say that I gave an eloquent speech about how my son has no history of violence, had never been arrested for a crime before, and if only the judge would see his way through to letting him out of jail, I’d take him in hand. In fact, I blubbered some nonsense I couldn’t remember, about broke in to tears, and apologized for being so emotional. Then the judge asked the prosecutor what he recommended for “release conditions.” The prosecutor said he recommended “release on PR”, which, for you law-abiding types, means “personal recognizance”, which means no bail. I was floored. The judge asked me if I would be opposed to a court order for my son to reside at my house until further notice. Of course I had no objections. The judge so ordered it, as well as a no contact order between my son, the girl, and two other individuals who were involved.
A few minutes later I was outside the jail entrance talking to the lawyer. He said that for the prosecution to come right out with a recommendation of PR that something drastic had changed. Maybe the girl’s story had changed. Maybe the police found evidence that exonerated my son and pointed to the other guys. He wasn’t sure what, but he would find out. Then I waited a bit over three hours for my son to be released. While I was waiting I spoke to one of the deputies who was running the jail. He said “I’ve been speaking to your son, he’s a good kid. I hope things work out.” That was good to hear. When he got out of jail, he said that he’d never been so glad to see me as he was that evening.
The next day my son contacted our local police department as they had his wallet and cell phone, as well as his pistol and a few other things they’d collected as evidence. He met with the detective to get these things back, as well as discuss the status of the case. It was then that my son learned that the girl had, over the course of Sunday afternoon and Monday, completely changed her story. The detective said that if he’d been on duty Sunday, my son would never have gone to jail. By the following day, my son’s lawyer had spoken with the prosecutor’s office who indicated that no charges would be filed. By that Friday, papers were filed with the court to that effect. And a week later, my son had his firearm back. And now, a month later, it’s almost like it never happened.
I share the story with all of you for a couple of reasons. First, there a few people here on Ricochet that know me in person, and would appreciate hearing the full details. Second, the only public record of this available to anyone is the fact that my son was arrested and charged (initially) with Rape in the Second Degree. There is no follow up story to say that the charges were dropped. So it has helped us to tell the story. Third, we have heard, often, that women don’t make up stories of rape. That, if anything, they hide them. Well, I am here to tell you that at least one woman on the face of the planet did fabricate a story, and a horrible one at that.
Finally, and this is my biggest and most important point, the story taught me a lesson which I want to pass on. It is true that my son has been drinking to excess, going to parties, and that this behavior put him “in harm’s way.” And to that degree, he is responsible for what happened. If you play on the tracks long enough, eventually you get hit by the train. But my lesson is this: I’ve always been a hard ass with my oldest boy. I’ve been far harder on him than my other kids, and I’ve never really let up. I was always criticizing him, never praising him. As he fell in to destructive behavior, I just kept piling it on.
Until one Sunday, sitting in my truck in front of a spud shed (literally), I found myself with my face buried in my hands, believing that no matter what had actually gone on the night before, my son was going to go to jail. Since then, I’ve asked him to live in our home with us for one year minimum, to stop drinking for that one year, and figure out how to get his life on the right track. And my wife and I have committed to no drinking as well. We’ve realized that we need to focus more on being forgiving, on uniting as a family, on treating each other with respect, and trusting God. It’s not been easy having him back home. But it’s been good. He’s a different person when he’s not drinking, and he’s been a pleasure to be around.
My hope for you dads and moms reading this is that you can learn from my mistake. Our kids screw up, and it’s easy to get down on them. But in the end you have to love them the way God loves you, treat them the way you want to be treated, and give them grace when they make mistakes.