Justice Or Injustice Essay, Research Paper

The rain beat down on that cold October morning as my feet scurried toward the courthouse. The smell of hotdogs, onions, Tabasco Sauce, and pollution filled the air. The town looked to be in a panic as people were running around aimlessly trying to get to their respective places of employment on time. I, on the other hand, was in no hurry. I dreaded the day ahead of me. Today was the sentencing of my father who had pled guilty to six counts of sexual battery a month prior. He originally had six counts of rape against him. As I walked into the courthouse, a long line of people, waiting to get through metal detectors, abruptly stopped me. Although I was 21 years old, today would be the day that bridged me from childhood to adulthood. As my feet slowly moved forward, following the person in front of me, my thoughts drifted back to my childhood.

I kept a childhood diary, that if read, the reader would think I was raised as a POW in a prison camp. My father was dreadfully strict and his hormones ran rapid. My daily rituals weren?t that of normal children. My rituals included things like oral sex, which began at the early age of three. They also included severe punishments for menial infractions. I was disciplined into being the perfect wife for him. I performed oral sex on him daily until I was the mature age of twelve when he could take me vaginally. I couldn?t fight him. I couldn?t argue. I couldn?t resist. I couldn?t bare the thought of lying over his bed, feeling flesh being torn by a belt as it lashed down across my naked back. I?ve been lacerated and bruised by bicycle chains and rope among other things. He has hit me in the head with batons, tossed me like a baseball, kicked me, etc. When I was six years old, my father thought it was time to introduce me to intercourse. When I refused, he pushed me over the kitchen chair, onto the floor. He grabbed a knife from the counter and shoved it in me, cutting me. I screamed in horror as I watched blood pour onto the kitchen floor. I can?t remember what happened after that, but I don?t remember going to the hospital. Many parts of my past has been blocked out or forgotten.

An officer asking me if I had anything in my pockets interrupted my thoughts. I took the change and keys from my pocket and placed them in a tray and walked through the metal detector. I rode the elevator to the second floor with my father?s attorney. I thought to myself; how could anyone defend a child molester and live with their conscience? I didn?t know this man, but I didn?t like him. The hall was lined with wooden chairs that sat outside courtrooms. As I walked into the courtroom and looked around, I felt like falling over dead. The emptiest feeling came over me. My family filled the other half of the courtroom. My mother sat on the front pew next to my grandparents. My other grandma, aunts, and uncles from both sides of my family, and my brother took the rest of the pews. I looked behind me to see that I had my father-in-law, my best friend, and another friend. I felt quite out-numbered. The four of us on one side and the hundred of them on the other made the courtroom quite unbalanced. I felt the stare of their eyes burning a whole through me. I felt as if I were being judged by what used to be my protectors, or lack thereof. Suddenly I knew, that what once was my family, were now, total strangers that wanted nothing more than to see me fall off the face of the earth. I had been out-casted. I was alone.

Judge Winkler entered the room. Everyone stood. My legs were shaking. I felt weak. I wanted to cry, but I kept reminding myself of what brought me here in the first place. I allowed myself to remain angry so my forgiving emotions wouldn?t take over. Everyone sat. I held in my hand, a paper that my lawyer had instructed me to write to my father explaining to him how I felt about what he done to me. It explained how he was supposed to be my shelter from the storm and that instead, was my storm. The Judge called for my father to take the stand. My heart fell to the floor. I began to feel sorry for him. After all, he was my father, and I knew by doing this I was going to lose everyone in my life. I had traded memories and family for justice and solitude. I had never seen my father in such a manner in my entire life. He looked as if, for the first time, he had lost all of his control. He looked old. He looked sad. He looked like the child that was being chastised. He looked like me. My thoughts were confused. My emotions were mixed. I hated him. I loved him. I was helpless. Judge Winkler read back the details of the six counts of sexual battery that were previously pled guilty. He then, asked me to come forward and read what I had written. I couldn?t. I was frozen. I couldn?t move. I handed the paper to my friend, Leslie, who was more than willing to read them for me. She stood before the court pompously as she read the words with dignity as if it were her feelings she was portraying. My father stood listening to the degrading words with his head lowered and his eyes closed. For the first time in his life, he looked apologetic. I felt sorry for him. I hated myself for feeling compassionate toward him. I watched my friend as she glared deep into his eyes as she read the words. She seemed to be enjoying making him grovel. Finally, it was over. She returned to her seat and grabbed my hand. I wanted to wake up and realize I had been in a deep sleep, having a horrible nightmare. But there was no chance of waking up from this. Judge Winkler asked my father if he had any response to the words Leslie had so arrogantly expressed.

?I?ve tried to apologize to her many times but nothing seems to work.? He said as if he was apologizing for stepping on my toe. Those words burned through me. They made me question why I was feeling sorry for him. I lived with his pain and torment for seventeen years. Doesn?t he know what he?s done to me? Doesn?t he know how I feel? Doesn?t he know that I am fighting with myself because I want to love him and be loved by him like a normal family? I didn?t want him to go to jail. I just wanted it to stop!

?You know, Mr. Doughman, ? Judge Winkler said, looking at him coldly, ?you have a problem and if you ever want to know what that problem is, you should go look in the mirror.?

My eyes widened and my mouth fell open. I couldn?t believe the judge had just said that. WOW! I felt that. I knew my father had to have felt that. I looked over at my family who seemed angry as if my father had just been violated in some way. I looked at my uncle who had supported me up until this time. He looked away from me as if I were a stranger now. My heart broke in two. Tears swelled up in my eyes. This hurt!

The judged cleared his throat, bringing me back to the realism of what was taking place. He began his sentencing.

?I hereby sentence George Doughman, adoptive father of Jacqueline Doughman, to the Mansfield Correctional Institute for one and one half years per each of the six counts stated previously??

My father?s head dropped. My entire family?s head dropped. I was stuck. I quickly did the math in my head. One and one-half time six; nine years. Oh my God! He will never make it. They will kill him.

The judge continued. ?The first two sentences will be carried out consecutively while the remaining four sentences will be served concurrently to the preceding sentences.?

The officer in the courtroom walked over and grabbed my father by his arm. He led him over to the side of the courtroom where he handcuffed him behind his back. Tears were streaming down my father?s face. My heart sank. I suddenly, wished I could take it all back. He was going to spend the next nine years being tormented like I was for the past seventeen years. I couldn?t wish that on anyone, not even the person that caused me the torment.

My lawyer grabbed my hand and led me out of the courtroom. I looked back to see my mother in tears being comforted by what used to be my family. I looked out at Leslie who seemed like she was having a field day. She was ready to throw a party. Who was going to console me? I wasn?t ready to throw a party. I was sad. All of a sudden my thoughts stopped. WAIT! Concurrently? What did that mean? I looked over at my lawyer in panic. What did concurrently mean?

?It means that he will serve those sentences on top of the other two. This means that he won?t serve them at all. He will probably only have to serve two-thirds of the other three years also.? He explained.

?WHAT? This can?t be! Two years?? I suddenly felt betrayed. I went through seventeen years of hell and three years of battling in court for this? What happened to the coldness the judge felt toward him? Did I show too much compassion? Did the judge see it? Why only two years? This wasn?t fair. I dropped down on the bench outside the courtroom and cried. My mother came out of the courtroom shortly, thereafter. I looked up at her with tear-filled eyes. This time I wanted her to feel what I was feeling. Why was she crying? She should be relieved. He should be in jail for life. I no longer cared. I hated her. I hated him. I hated the judge. This wasn?t fair. I collected my thoughts, wiped my tears, and walked down the hall. Words of Leslie and my lawyer were blurring in my head as I thought of how suddenly everything changed. I realized I had given up everything, including my family as useless as they were, for nothing. It didn?t matter anymore. I didn?t care. It was over. I couldn?t go back and change the decision of the judge. Besides, I was nobody. Why should he care about how I felt?

As I walked into the foyer of the courthouse, I saw my mother standing with my grandmother. They looked over at me. I just looked away, shaking my head. I had lost. They had won, and nobody cared. Leslie was jumping up and down like she had just won the lottery. I just looked at her and looked back down at the ground. Justice? Was it really?