Let Me Cry for Cecil New

Cecil New pleaded guilty last month to kidnapping and killing a 4-year-old boy in 2007. During his sentencing hearing this week, Mr. New’s family took the stand to talk about the abuse he suffered as a child, sometimes taking beatings for his siblings to protect them from their alcoholic father.

Finally, as his siblings and his mother testified about his childhood, Mr. New showed emotion for the first time. Pitiful, heart-breaking emotion. I saw the broken little boy, and imagined that part of what I saw in that breakdown was gratitude for being vindicated. Whether or not what I imagine I saw is real, the story was too twisted, and my emotions too raw to feel anything less than heart-wrenching sympathy for this man – as well as for his siblings, and the family of the child he killed. If I have any sympathy for his mother it remains hidden.

I read a string of comments left by people who saw a newspaper article about his story. Some demanded an execution, as though that will bring back the dead child, take away the hurt anyone feels, or make them more able to sleep at night. One person damned him to hell, as though she is a god. And I wondered, at what point do people start hating victims of abuse? Is there a cut-off age? Is it only the ones who go on to abuse others? Does it matter how they abuse? It definitely happens; one day people love abused children but then, at some point, they lose that compassion and hate them for not being able to heal themselves.

To those who think I disrespect the family of his victim by feeling compassion for the murderer, you are wrong. It isn’t necessary to choose a side. I can feel deep sympathy for everyone involved.

To those who think Cecil New should have been able to overcome his abusive childhood, I offer this tiny comparison. My mother was a screamer. I hated her when she screamed at me and swore I would never do that to my children. Never.

But I did. When I screamed at my children, I hated myself more than I hated my mother, and it was much harder to forgive me than it was to forgive her because I knew that I knew better. I wasn’t so sure about her. My mother’s screaming was nothing compared to what this man suffered at the hands of his father. I cannot imagine the guilt and self-hatred this man must feel for not being able to control what I’m sure he must have promised himself he would never be.

I do not want Cecil New released so that he can harm another person. His crime was horrendous. He sexually abused and murdered a four-year-old boy, and then put his body in the trash. I do not believe this man should be allowed near another child – or adult, for that matter. But, I cannot believe that he needs to suffer. I think living with what he has done, and with what has been done to him, is punishment enough.

I would like to see Cecil New live comfortably in a prison cell. I would not become his pen pal, visit him, or want to marry him (those stories disturb me) but I would send him books, or puzzles, or something to help him keep his mind busy.

Unless he wants to die. My thoughts about death sentences are that they should be options offered to offenders. If this man would rather die than live with his pain, I think we should allow him that option. Otherwise, I think putting this man to death would be the same as killing an abused child who is stuck living in an adult body.

I had a similar conversation with friends a couple of years ago. A couple of them haven’t spoken to me since. Maybe that’s why I wanted to write this – but I really don’t need anyone’s permission to cry for Cecil New. I’ve done that already, without shame, and will probably do it again.

Honestly, I Do Want to Help Kentucky State Police Officers

Although the caller pitched for the Kentucky State Police this year, I’m fairly certain he must work for the same organization that usually irritates me in the name of the FOP. I let him rattle off every word of his script uninterrupted, not because I’m polite, but because he didn’t pause once to allow me a turn to speak. I have to admit, though, that I was glad to hear from a real person instead of a recording (see Aaron L. Wilson and South East Christian Church), and his spiel did have some entertainment value.



Without asking first if I am one of the lucky 90% who is somewhat employed, or if in addition to having food in the fridge, clothes on my back, and all the insurance I need in case of emergencies, I also have an extra stash available for people who approach me with their hands out, the caller assumed I would give. The only question he considered was how much I would give.



He told me how the police department works hard to protect me. I was willing to give him that one; I appreciate the police officers who protect me. I will even agree that they might be underpaid and underappreciated, and that it is a shame that they have to be lumped in with everyone else by the huge faction of our society who believes anyone who has a job should be grateful for that job, no matter how little they are paid or how poorly they are treated. I was willing to acknowledge and appreciate the Kentucky State Police, thank, and even to applaud them.



He started losing me when he mentioned their families and how I should also want to help them. Where has this man been? I spend my life fighting for all families. I’ve never excluded the families of Kentucky State Police troopers in my desire for all people to have what they need.



The teeth clamped down on my tongue, however, when he read the part about how they depend on generous donations from nice people like me. What fool put me on this caller’s Libertarian list when everyone knows I am a bleeding heart Liberal? I have never said anything, anywhere, any time that could possibly lead anyone to believe I support volunteer police departments, volunteer fire departments, or any other type of volunteer necessary service. I know how ornery my fellow citizens are. I know people who would begrudge volunteering to help anyone they thought held different values, or different beliefs, or different skin colors, or whose legality they would question because they look different. I know people who would sign up to volunteer and then remember that their girlfriend might get jealous if they had to help another female. I could probably name a few who would get drunk and forget they volunteered.



Contrary to whatever misconceptions someone fed this poor little phone solicitor, I’m all for tax-supported, government regulated services. I’m actually in favor or raising taxes so we can pay government employees what they deserve, and provide benefits to their families.



So, when this guy told me he had marked me for a twenty-five dollar donation and asked if I would like to give more, I told him to unmark me because I had something much better than cash to offer. I promised him I would vote for Democrats. That way, the Kentucky State Police and their families might have a fighting chance at decent salaries and benefits, and maybe hope for unemployment benefits or welfare programs should they lose their jobs.



Phone Solicitor’s tone was not so friendly when he was confused. He asked again if I didn’t want to help the Kentucky State Police and their families by increasing the twenty-five dollar donation he had assigned me. I explained, more carefully the second time, that I do want to help them and that is why I am giving them something much greater than twenty-five dollars. I am promising them hours of my time and energy via campaign work for Democratic candidates, and more than twenty-five dollars of my money through campaign contributions.



When he asked the third time if I didn’t want to help the Kentucky State Police, I said I would help by suggesting that they help themselves by doing exactly what I’m doing. I hope he didn’t confuse that with the ever-popular bootstrap message because I truly do want tax dollars to help Kentucky State Police officers and their families when they need it.

Aaron L. Wilson, Please Take Your Nose Out of My Uterus and Stick it in a History Book

I saw private caller and almost let the call go to voice mail. Almost. With one daughter out of the country and the other running my errands while her phone lay on my kitchen counter, I reconsidered. Should it be a bill collector I could hang up. A whispered what are you wearing might make me feel young again. And if it was one of the girls I would be glad to hear from her. With nothing to lose, I answered.


An infuriating pause warned me the call was computer generated so the caller had no respect for my time or me. I should have hung up then but I hated to waste a good mad without knowing to whom I owed the displeasure. So, I hung on, things got worse, and there was no one on the other end to answer my questions or receive my comments.


Infuriating, rude caller introduced himself as Aaron El Wmmthmmn (closest I could guess), Christian Conservative. The last part was all that I, Sandy Knauer, non-Christian liberal really needed in order to know that I had no interest but I still couldn’t hang up without knowing the name of my caller. Without a name, how could I positively know for whom I would never vote, who to campaign against, or how to title this article?


He continued in what I thought was a fake accent, repeating El something-that-never-got-any-clearer. I was confused because the accent did not resemble Spanish or Italian. El? On what seemed like at least the tenth time he repeated the name, I finally decided El was a middle initial. Now, I wanted to know who wastes time on a middle initial instead of enunciating his last name.


Since Mr. Christian Conservative promised to stick his nose in my uterus, and to deny my right to escape his religious intrusion, and to trample my choice if I help put him in a state rep seat, I knew exactly where to turn. First, I called the Republican Party of Kentucky and spoke with a kind woman who wished she could help. Unfortunately, even with a first name, middle initial, and district, she could not identify my caller. She apologized and gave me a local number. The Jefferson County Republican Party was less help. Everyone was either on another line or out of the office, but if I would leave a “very detailed” message, someone would return my call. I was not in the mood to leave a “very detailed” message about someone whose name I didn’t know so, after three tries I gave up and did what non-Christian liberals are often criticized for doing. I searched the internet looking for facts.


I found Aaron L. Wilson, State Representative – District 30 on Facebook, where I ‘liked’ him long enough to leave a message letting him know that not once in all the times he repeated his name on his ‘hidden caller’ message was I able to understand his name. While there, I read about his gratitude to the Republican Party for freeing his ancestors, and that his goal is to see Republicans control the General Assembly and restore liberty and justice for all Kentuckians.


Mr. Wilson, if you are reading, please take your nose out of my uterus long enough to study recent history. Sure, a few Republicans along the way might have helped to free your ancestors from slavery, and a couple of Democrats were less than perfect when it came to Civil Rights. More recent history (the part your handlers conveniently avoid when providing your talking points and hoping you will accept their revised history) will tell quite a different story.

I’m sad for you – and for me and everyone else watching – that you don’t see the duplicity in bragging about being freed while in the same campaign you phone women to tell them you want to take away their freedom. I’m no expert, but this does not seem like a wise campaign strategy to me.

You Weren't Alone, Mom

People describe my mother as both a person who laughed all the time, and as a complainer. Strange as that seems to me, I admit that people could also say both about me, although I don’t think I handle it the way she did, or that I complain for the same reason. She did the two separately – laughing one minute and raging the next – and I am more inclined to laugh while I complain. I complain about things that I want to change. When I complain, I am usually blowing off steam to help me get over what bothers me and trying to generate energy so I can resolve a problem. Sometimes I am seeking advice and input.

 Mom enjoyed complaining.

Sometime after she divorced the-mistake-she-married-after-Daddy-died, and while I still thought she was sane, and before anyone moved in and stole her money, I sat at her dining room table and documented her litany of complaints as she rattled them off. Sadly, I could have made that list at my own table, without her there. I had heard them all before, hundreds of times throughout the years.

When she finally remembered that I was there and paused, I smiled and held up the list. With great -although irrational - expectations, I read the list back to her and handed over the paper, commenting about how fortunate she was that each entry could be bought, and that she had the money to do it. She didn’t appear to share my excitement so I offered to take her shopping and help resolve her problems. After a long silence, I told her I would be happy if I could buy a fix for my problems, hoping she would realize – honestly feel – her good fortune. No such luck.

She threw the list at me and told me to leave. Actually, she didn’t tell me; she screamed at me to get out. Confused, I tried to get her to tell me what I had done wrong. She cried. She screamed. She repeated her complaints, adding something about me at the end but never really explaining how I had offended her.

And then it hit me. She couldn’t let go of that list. I was trying to take away something she held dear. I tried to apologize but she didn’t want that either. She wanted me to leave.

It was a bittersweet realization to discover now that an acquaintance shared what I thought was Mom’s unique attachment to discomfort. I don’t communicate with this person daily, or even on a regular basis. But in the decade or so that I’ve known her, she has expressed a number of repeated regrets.

Unlike Mom’s situation, money can not solve this woman’s problems. Many times, I listened, commiserated, encouraged, made suggestions, explained what worked for others and for me in similar situations, recommended books, and offered my assistance. And I genuinely cared.

I didn’t make a list for this person. If I were to do so, it would look like I had taken my gratitude list and reversed it. Everything that I treasure in my life, she has expressed disappointment for not having it in hers.

Recently, this acquaintance took a break from complaining to tell me that she is sad for me because instead of having fun, I waste my time trying to help others and fix the world. I thanked her for her concern, but assured her that my fixing the world activities are fun for me. Next, she pitied me for not having what she thought I should want. Again, I thanked her but let her know her pity was wasted on me; I have what I need, like what I have, do what I want, live as freely as any one I know, have stimulating friends, have accomplished everything on my personal to-do list, and my children are well-adjusted, intelligent, caring adults. I couldn’t ask for more.

You can imagine my surprise when she wished me a good rest of my life, which I interpreted as a permanent brush off, and said she wouldn’t want my life. It felt very much like having the list thrown in my face again. Fortunately, this time, I had years of understanding someone who rejects the very things that will make her happy. I know there is nothing I can do.

I’m glad to know Mom wasn’t alone.