My dad used to be acquainted with O.J. Simpson. This was in the pre-Bronco days. They served on a board together, and became acquaintances (yes, I am carefully avoiding the word “friends,” because they weren’t friends. Also because O.J. does this thing where he murders people.)

The only reason this relationship is memorable is because one day, my dad decided to ask this cold-blooded killer for some parenting advice.

Dad: “Should I send my youngest kid to Winaukee, a 2-month sleep away camp, this summer? He’s only 5 years old.”
O.J.: “Absolutely! It’ll be the best summer of his life!”

So Dad sent him. Because O.J. SIMPSON IS FULL OF GREAT IDEAS!

Zack spent that entire summer crying in the infirmary. The camp nurse was his best friend. Occasionally he’d take a break from sobbing to ride a horse, which, at an all-boys camp, made him a huge weirdo. When Steph and I (who were at Robindel, the sister camp across the lake), would show up for visitation on Sundays, we’d find him shirtless, wearing one Teva sandal, and covered in a mix of dirt, weeks-old temporary tattoos, and general despair. Jeremy was at the camp with Zack and was supposed to be looking out for him  but, in a shocking turn of events, no one ever knew where the fuck Jeremy was or what he was doing. But he sure as shit wasn’t looking after Zack. Which is ok, since, at 8 years old, he was probably too young to be at camp himself.

Bottom line– it was, without question, the worst summer of Zack’s life.

So the point here is this: I don’t care if you do or don’t believe that O.J. Simpson is a murderer– I have indisputable proof that he is, at the very least, a big fucking liar.

It’s a shame no one asked me to testify in court.