BAN ADRIAN PETERSON- A PERSONAL PERSPECTIVE

I am by any measure a large individual, yoga and my recent conversion to becoming a vegan notwithstanding.  Clients have told me that they felt when they hired me that  I would walk into court and intimidate the prosecutor or even the judge. 

But I was not always the big and intimidating lawyer. 

I was once that four year old boy being frightened to death by his father. 

I was once scared, fearful for my life, confused as to why this man who I vaguely thought was supposed to love and protect me was hurting me and threatening me.  I spent a large part of my childhood fretting that he might kill me. 

Imagine if, like the Ray Rice incident, we had a video of Adrian Peterson stuffing leaves into the mouth of his four year old son. Imagine if we could see the terror in that little boy's eyes as "the switch" (and I am by no means convinced that other weapons weren't used)  peeled his skin from his body. 

It might be hard for some of you to imagine this. I can close my eyes and be instantly transported back to those feelings of pain and terror.  And that is what no one who has never experienced this kind of terror will ever understand- the beating lasted minutes, but the memory lasts a lifetime. The lasting affects of being an abused child are so deep and varied, that the only thing we can say for sure is that while the physical scars will heal, the emotional scars will not. 

Yes, I understand Adrian Peterson was beaten as a child. And I feel for the child he was, but I despise the man he is. He has the money and ability to get help for what happened to him to make sure he didn't continue the legacy of abuse and violence. But he did nothing about it. 

Let me provide one instance of how these scars never heal:

About twenty five years ago, as a young prosecutor, I was sitting in the hallway of the courthouse. I saw a young African-American woman, totally overwhelmed by the drama of what was happening to her or someone she knew in court, slap her young boy on the face- stopping him from running  around the hallways with his little red truck, laughing and playing. The boy stood in stunned silence. Then she slapped him again. I was transfixed with terror. Stuck in my chair, literally frozen. My muscles could not move. I needed to rescue that child, and I could not move. She raised her hand a third time and a lawyer named Vince McGhee - who since has tragically passed away- grabbed her hand. Vince was also African American. He was always a bit larger than life. He was a great advocate.  He was always well dressed and gave off the air of the confident, successful lawyer and man that he was. 

Vince introduced himself. He handed the woman his card and asked her if he could take her son downstairs for a snack at the cafeteria. The woman nodded numbly. Vince then bent down until he was at eye level with the little boy and he wiped away his tears. He said something to the boy and the boy nodded and then he picked him up, and the boy automatically put his arms around Vince and buried his head into Vince's neck. Vince walked away with the boy, leaving his briefcase as some sort of collateral with the woman. 

At some point my muscles relaxed and I could move again and I realized I had been crying uncontrollably. The woman was staring at me. I stood up on shaky legs and walked away. 

When a parent beats a child, so many disastrous things occur. The child learns that the world is not a safe place and that the child can trust no one, not even the person she or he loves the most. How does that lesson translate into the adult the child will become? Will that adult form warm and loving relationships or spent his or her life distrustful of everyone? And most importantly, when that child becomes an adult and has a child of their own, what will they do when they "lose it" as we all do? 

I am happy to report that my children have never known terror. They do not fear their parents. They do complain when there is not enough ice in their beverage or the pasta is slightly overcooked, or the movie doesn't start exactly on time or doesn't live up to their expectations. Maybe they are a bit spoiled, and that is just fine with me. They know they have parents who will always protect them, never hurt them, and that the world can be a wonderful place to explore. 

I am not sure how or why I was able to break the cycle of violence. My own explanation is that my terror was so deep that I could not ever bring myself to experience it again in any form. 

I am a criminal defense attorney by profession and perhaps by nature. I protect people from the government. I have defended the worst of the worst- people who have killed in cold blood for profit. I have defended the slickest grifters who have stole millions and wrecked havoc on families and companies. I have also defended a lot of good people who either made one bad choice or found themselves in situations they couldn't control. 

I have won awards for my defense of clients and I am proud that my name often surfaces as a lawyer who can help people.

But I am haunted by the day I could not defend that little boy. 

Stop cheering for Adrian Peterson the NFL superstar, and recognize him for what he is- a troubled man who abuses little children.  

PLR.