Richard Gross: The Day I Killed My Parents

On Memorial Day 2002, I drove to the home of my estranged mother and father and shot them dead. I killed my parents.

It’s hard to write about the worst thing I ever did. It’s embarrassing to write about the stupidest thing I ever did. It’s unpleasant to write about a disgusting act that I can never forget. I mean I can see it like it happened yesterday, though two decades have passed since that day.

I remember the kids in my elementary school didn’t believe that my dad owned an airplane, a Cessna 150. They could see that I only had two pairs of pants, one of which had patches on the knees. They could see that I had one pair of cheap sneakers for the entire school year. They could see I got one haircut a year. Obviously, the poor kid is telling lies to hide his poverty. Being an honest kid, I was offended. Why would I lie? There was nothing wrong with Dad having these things. I had enough clothes, he said.

Children accept whatever family they have as normal, not knowing better. When you’re older you realize the lies. For many, they find out there is no Santa Claus. For others, the realizations are more shocking. Such as stuff that was against the law. Stuff nobody believed because your parents seemed like normal, middle class, suburban white people who wouldn’t do stuff like that.

I felt that I was saddled with the expenses of their neglect and abuse. Never taken to a dentist past age eight, I bore the cost of fixing my rotten teeth. At 80 bucks an hour, I was unable to seek psychiatric care. Too damaged for a relationship, I had no one to share living expenses. I thought revenge would help me heal. It didn’t. I just hurt many others.

In prison I’ve found a bottomless well of neglected, abused, and misunderstood men. Driven to drugs and mental illness by their tormenters, they wander the walkways of prisons all across this great land. Stories of abuse are so common, they mean nothing in court. I got two consecutive sentences of life without parole.

We call it DBI: death by incarceration.

I know that the world is full of people who were abused growing up. Most live with internal anger. Some lead normal lives. Many unleash their anger on their partners or their children. Others spew that anger toward society at large. I believe the root of all antisocial behavior is child abuse and neglect. Self-medicating is common as we dull the pain.

What is less common among abuse survivors is revenge against their abusers; so often authority figures, revenge seems the natural reaction. Yet it’s rare. I would expect priests to be murdered by many of their abuse victims. Yet it seldom happens. I forced myself to pay it back instead of paying it forward. It didn’t come naturally; it was a choice. I confessed at the police station and told them why I did it. They were shocked, along with everyone who knew me.

We have a culture which values revenge. That’s why there is a high murder rate and severe criminal punishment in the U.S. We think that revenge is justice, that revenge is closure. We’re wrong. I’m wrong. I now pay for my crime and deal with the same issues in an awful place. It’s my fault, my grievous fault.

My parents weren’t all bad. Most people liked them. I am now bad, seen as a monster by the justice system. Irreparable corruption is the rationale to justify life without parole. I don’t believe that human beings are ever irreparable, but I didn’t give my own parents the pass I now seek from the Commonwealth.

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Richard Gross #FF9878
SCI Phoenix
PO Box 33028
St Petersburg, FL 33733

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