Like many of my peers, the O.J. Simpson murder trial is a vague set of memories for me. When I read about it, images from my then twelve-year-old mind are jogged. I remember exactly where I was when the verdict was read because, frankly, I hated life so much then that I couldn’t have forgotten. In the time my parents took to move from our home in South Carolina to Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, myself, one of my sisters, and my brother all went to live with our grandparents in Redmond, Washington for six weeks. The memories of homemade breakfast every school morning, instead of cereal, while watching Gumby are good ones, but the school was literally traumatizing. To begin with, I’d come from a school that was on a military base, made up of all military children. We were used to “new kids” coming and going and actually welcomed them and their stories from life in Cuba or Alaska. Redmond doesn’t get a lot of new kids.
My first day I wore a frilly dress that Mimi had gotten for me. School had started several weeks earlier and I had missed the formulation of the “groups”. I remember being stared at with hateful eyes as Mr. West, my first male teacher, introduced me to the class. I was openly made fun of about my attire and teased without any remarks from dear old Mr. West. I sat down and wondered why these kids hated me so much for no reason other than I was wearing an outfit they saw as too fancy for school.
At lunchtime no one would allow me to sit with them as I walked from table to table asking if I could. Finally, one of the girls from a table of Japanese girls offered me a spot beside her, and then they proceeded to speak no English for the entire meal.
I ended up going home in tears more often than not for the short time I was at that school. One girl in particular, a white girl with frizzy curly hair and cleft lip, made my life especially hell. I was told I could no longer wear dresses or skirts (after wearing a dark green plaid skirt and black long-sleeved t-shirt the second day of school, thinking it was far more casual) and that hair was to be worn in a ponytail if I was to be considered “cool”. After three weeks of this Hell, I was outcast again when Mr. West took a poll of the class when Simpson’s verdict was released on the internet. He asked us to raise our hands and show one finger for a conviction of first degree murder, two fingers for 2nd degree, and 3 for an acquittal. I sat proud with my number one in the air while more than half the class sported their number threes. We all know what happened there.
So, for those of you not bullied by fifth graders for your views about the verdict, you don’t understand the personal pleasure I feel for this new conviction. I feel vindicated. Heh. But on a more serious note, when is someone going to make a movie about this nonsense? Why would an innocent man fail to show up to jail in favor of leading cops on a 50 mile police chase, with a gun and threatening suicide (Which of course brought no charges since prosecutors had an open-and-shut case, complete with DNA evidence)? I’m not a former Heisman winner, NOR friends with Kim Kardashian’s dad, but I’m pretty sure no one I know would literally get away with murder that is so blatantly obvious.
The media keeps pointing out the “lucky” 13 issue. He was convicted exactly 13 years after being acquitted of his ex-wife and her friend’s murders, for a crime he committed on September 13th, after jurors deliberated for 13 hours following the 13-day trial. Fun stuff!
So next time you’re considering killing your ex-wife and expect to get away with it: Remember that karma’s a bitch.