Twenty Minutes

Twenty minutes is not a lot of time. Not in the grand scheme of things. We live for decades, spend years in schools, hours on our phones.

When you really think about it, twenty minutes is almost a blink in time. You can look down to do something and then suddenly twenty minutes has passed.

You can be in a conversation for twenty minutes, or finish a test. It can be the time between passing an intersection before or after an accident happens. It can be the minutes between life and death.

Each day consists of 72 twenty-minute periods. 72 opportunities to live life for another twenty minutes. 72 chances.

But something so miniscule can change your life.

Or if you’re Brock Turner, twenty minutes of ‘sexual promiscuity’ can alter the next twenty years of your life.

Much to his, and his father’s shock, that’s what happens when you rape an innocent woman. Those twenty minutes change your life. He chose how he would spend those minutes and he cannot seem to see the fault in his choice.

For someone who spent his entire life keeping time, you think he would realize the importance of every second.

Swimmers live by the clock. One millisecond can cost you a title, a Stanford scholarship or even your Olympic dreams.

He has grown up realizing the importance of each second, of each choice you make, each movement you choose to make with your body.

For Brock, his “twenty minutes of action” as his father referred to it, didn’t cost him all it should have.

I wonder if for even a moment, a single member of the Turner family thought about how those twenty minutes changed the victim’s life.

How because of someone who lives to the second, her entire life is changed.

How she will never be able to look at men the same, or trust them.

How if a stranger even brushes up against her a pang of fear will instantly shoot through her.

How no matter how many times someone tells her it’s not her fault, Brock’s entire family will be there telling her it is. Or even worse, they'll blame alcohol for turning their son into a rapist.

How her entire life revolves around those twenty minutes.

How if it had not been for two men opposite Brock in every way, those twenty minutes would have grown into something she does not want to imagine but can't quite help it.

How can a man stand in front of a room full of people and diminish his sons actions to just twenty minutes.

In twenty minutes, he took everything from her.

Her voice.

Her trust in not only men but in herself.

Her confidence.

Her ability to confide in her family and friends.

In twenty minutes of pure cruel and selfish behavior, an entitled “all-American athlete” stripped an innocent woman of everything.

But he shouldn’t be punished, the poor boy can no longer enjoy a ribeye, and isn’t that punishment enough?

The judge supported his sentencing with the statement; “A prison sentence would have a severe impact on him … I think he will not be a danger to others,” the judge said, citing Turner’s youth and lack of criminal record, the Guardian reported.” according to The Washington Post.

Which leaves me wondering, how old is old enough to rape? How old do you have to be to understand that having sex with an unconscious body is not OK?

If you ask me, someone with the intelligence to get into Stanford, the athletic ability to lead swim teams to national titles and by law, a legal adult would know the difference, but apparently not.

Brock Turner is not a rapist. He is an all-American ivy league swimmer, who despite his ability to understand the importance of each second he spends in the pool, he just cannot understand the importance of each second he chose to spend forcing himself on an unconscious woman.

It’s fine though, he just wanted to fit in at Stanford and swears he won't do it again.