06x03 - Our Secret Identity

[bunniefuu]

It's very hard
to tell somebody

that you're related to somebody
who's awful and evil.

And so I didn't really ever
share many details

of my life growing up.

I really wanted to make myself
separate from my dad

in a lot of ways,
so I don't talk about it a lot.

Here is the man
detectives from Jefferson

and snohomish county
desperately want to catch.

Even though we lived
under an assumed name,

we had a very normal life,
and it was just so unreal.

He's large, 6-foot-3
to 6-foot-4-inches tall,


a bulging stomach,

in his early 40s with brown hair
and dark graying beard.

He was last seen wearing cowboy
clothes and a baseball cap.

It makes me wonder,
did we ever know who he was?

I don't know if any part
of his life was real,

and I've lost sleep over it.

I've had nightmares for years
over it.

Maybe I was the product
of someone

who was just
a really bad person.

That's very hard
to live with.

- -Captions by vitac...
- www.Vitac.Com

captions paid for by
discovery communications

this was a picture of my dad
that, gosh, was probably taken

when I was like 7 or 8.

While I have a lot of good
memories of my dad,

I have very few snapshots
of my dad.

He had a very big personality
and a very demanding presence,

and he wasn't really warm
and fuzzy.

He loved hunting and fishing
and camping.

It's hard to believe that
that wasn't an authentic life.

Some of the best times
of my life were those years,

and it's hard that those
are all marred by his deceit.

I'm glad that I have one...
One good picture.

It just reminds of a time that
it seemed like life was easier,

that it seemed like
he was who he said he was,

I guess, you know, like, a time
before we were on the run.

The first 11 years of my life
were extremely normal.

It was my mom and dad
and my brother and I.

We were living in hobbs,
new Mexico,

and my dad owned
a sporting-goods store

called sh**ter's supply.

And one day when I was 11,
dad's store burned down.

I remember the shock
of the fire,

and I remember worrying
about my dad.

He was sent to the hospital,
but he just had smoke inhalation

because of being in the store
when it burned.

Let's start with
checking your lungs.

And I remember my dad
just coughing a lot.

Breathe in for me.

He says, the day before,
something had spilt,

some sort of a solvent
or a cleaner on the carpet,

and he went up that morning,
he says, to clean it up.

When he plugged in the carpet
cleaner, he says it sparked,

and that spark
is what caused the fire.

He says he stayed within
the store for a while

to try to put it out
but wasn't able to,

and so he ended up running out,
I think, the back door.

What are we gonna do now?

Don't worry.

We have insurance
on the store.

Everyone seemed
to believe

it was just a bad situation,

like it was just
a bad stroke of luck.

I didn't know anything or have
any suspicion about the fire

being set intentionally
until several months later.

I believe that there was a lot
of debt with the store.

My dad always seemed like he
wanted to live beyond his means.

I believe that he owed
a lot of money

to a lot of different people,

"so let me burn it down
and take the insurance money."

In my mind, the fire represents
what I know to be

the beginning
of his criminal activity.

About a month after the fire,
we moved to Montana.

We lived in Montana
from April...

For just a couple of months.

My dad said that we just decided
that we didn't think Montana

was where we wanted to be,

and so we've decided
to find a new home.

Where are we gonna go next?

I don't know.

We were going
to drive around

the state of Washington,

and wherever we as
a family decided

was our kind of favorite
location is where we would live.

Why don't you choose,
Pam?

Really?

It just seemed
like an adventure.

Nice pick.
All right, guys.

Let's go.

There was a sense of being
on the move,

but I didn't know that as a kid.

We were on the run
for about 4 1/2 years.

My brother and I
had to change schools again.

I remember it was very hard
to make friends.

It just became more and more
clear that we were alone

and that we didn't have contact
with any family whatsoever.

Hey, kiddo.

Hi, dad.

During the time
we were gone,

I wrote frequently
to my grandparents.

I remember numerous times
saying,

"I wrote grandma and grandpa
a letter.

Can I get stamps?
And I'll go mail it."

Dad,
do you have any stamps?

I'm gonna send this
to grandma and grandpa.

You know what?
I don't right now, honey.

Dad would never let me mail them
myself, just kind of said,

"well, we don't have
stamps right now.

Why don't you give me
your letter,

and I'll go buy some stamps."

Why don't you go run along
and play with your brother?

It wasn't till years later

I realized they had
never been mailed.

It took quite a while for me
to realize

that there were
no letters coming back.

I would love to know
where those letters are

or if they're even anywhere.

I don't know if they
were thrown away.

I don't know if they were...
I don't know.

I don't know
what happened to them.

My grandparents loved us
just so much.

In a way, it makes you
feel stupid

because you're writing
your heart out to people

who...

Who aren't answering.

But I didn't realize
that they were looking for us

for five years.

And my grandmother died
during that time.

She died about a year
after the last time I saw her.

My grandpa said that every
single day she asked about us.

That just breaks my heart,
just really breaks my heart.

We were staying in a hotel.

One morning, my parents
had left the hotel room,

and I believe they were
going to meet with a realtor

or something,
and the phone rang.

Hello?

And it said,
"is Mr. Weir there?"

And we said, "no, you have
the wrong room,"

and so we hung up,
so few minutes later,

the phone rang again.

I'm not getting it.

And it said,
"is Mr. and Mrs. Weir there?"

And we said, "no."

We told them our names,
sinclair.

So then, a third time,
it called, and they said,

"is Charles Weir in the room?"

And we said, "no."

My brother and I
are a little confused.

Why do they keep calling us?

They kept on asking
for someone named Weir.

Crazy.

And somebody knocked
on the door.

So my brother and I were just
totally freaked out,

and we were just
really nervous.

When we opened it,
there was the hotel manager

and a policeman
standing at the door.

There was the hotel manager

and a policeman
standing at the door.

You alone?

Parents here? No.

And they said,
"we need to see evidence

that there's an adult
in this room

because it looks likes you're
runaways or you're hiding."

You kids better prove to me
you belong here.

And so my brother and I were
just totally freaked out,

and we were going around
the hotel room

digging out, like, suitcases
and trying to show evidence

that someone other
than my brother

and I were in this room.

And I remember also having
this fear that, like,

my parents
were gonna be mad at us

because we'd broken some rule
that a policeman is in our room.

Excuse us.

Can we help you?

About that time, my mom and dad
walked up into the room.

This is our room.

It is?
Yes, sir.

These are your children?

Yes, sir. Can I see some I.D.?

They said, "oh, it was
just a big misunderstanding,"

and that they'd registered
under a different name

just for privacy purposes.

I remember my dad showing his
I.D. And my mom showing I.D.

No problem.

Have a nice day.

And the police left.

My brother and I were both
very rattled, very confused.

And my dad at that point said,

"in order for us to stay
together as a family,

I've decided we need
to change our name,

and so your new
last name is Weir."

That's our new last name.

Forget about the old one.

"You're not gonna talk
about the old name.

You're not going to use
your old name."

I don't understand.

And when I asked why, he said
the cops down in new Mexico

was trying to get him
to come back

for the store situation and,

"I just don't feel like they're
ever going to leave us alone,

so the only way I feel safe that
we can live together as a family

is if we change our name
so that they can't find us."

He made the police seem bad,

like they were trying
to frame him for something.

I believed he didn't do it,
and so I thought,

"well, why would you
run from the police?

Aren't they supposed
to help you?"

Even as an 11-year-old, it
didn't make sense to me that...

Why wouldn't you be honest?

We had a really pretty property
in Washington state,

and to this day, it's probably
one of my favorite places

I've ever lived,

and some of my best friends
still live there.

As time went on, there was less
and less reference

to things of our past,

and anything that had
a last name on it was,

you know, kind of disappeared.

But one afternoon, I was sitting
on the front porch

talking with my friends,

and it was a summer day,
had on shorts and a t-shirt,

and on the back of it,
it said sinclair

because it was a shirt

that I had had from
when I was in new Mexico,

a shirt I'd worn on some little
soccer team or basketball team.

My dad opens up the door
and says,

"you need to get inside."

Pam, come inside now.

I'll be right back.

What do you think
you're doing?

We're just talking.

And when I got inside,
my dad was just livid

that I was wearing this shirt
because it had sinclair on it.

I talked to you
about this already.

Sorry.

Sorry is not good enough.

He made me take it off,
and he said,

"you need to be sure
that you never say

our old last name
or talk about where we're from."

Nobody can find out
about us.

You've got to be
more careful.

Okay.

And he just reiterated that if
anybody found out our real name,

then they could make him
go back to new Mexico.

Whenever he talked about
going back to new Mexico,

he talked about
being in jail.

Like, I felt guilty,
or, you know, you almost felt,

like, it was your fault,
if something were to happen,

that you would be
the one to blame.

He said, "you know, make sure
they know that I just told you

to take it off
because it had to be washed."

Just tell them your mom
is doing laundry.

So then we went back out,

and I hung out with my friends
a little bit longer...

And I never saw
the shirt again.

When we were living
in Washington,

my parents were always home.

I knew enough from being
around my friends

to know that my friends' parents
had bills

and worries
and stress about money,

and my parents
never seemed to have that.

Hand that to your mother.

- Here you go.
- Thank you.

I remember one time
asking, "how do we have money?

You know, how come
you guys don't work,

and there always
seems to be money?"

Dad? yeah, Pammy?

How come you and mom
don't have to work?

All my friends' parents do.

We're just really good
with money.

If anybody asked what my parents
did, we were told to say,

"my dad worked in the oil field
and retired early."

That's why he didn't work.

But my friends ask
what you do.

If anyone asks,
I'm retired.

Okay.

It was a lie, obviously.

I knew they didn't retire
from the oil field.

It really made me
have more questions.

How come there's always money,
or where is our money,

or do you have
a bank account,

or, you know,
where do you keep the money?

My dad would always say,
"well, don't worry about it.

We have plenty,"

always just had
kind of vague answers.

It just did not
make sense to me.

Like, in my mind
as an 11-year-old,

it just seemed like,
"can't you just talk about it?"

I really thought during those
years that we had a good life.

Who's that?

It makes me hate him,

and it makes me wonder
why he thought we were

more important
than other people's lives.

When I think of my dad,
I think of him with a beard.

We weren't a fancy family.

He pretty much wore jeans
or sweats

or, you know,
comfortable-type clothes.

It wasn't like he ever
dressed up for anything,

and so he didn't often
change his appearance.

The times that I would notice
a difference

was when he would
come back from a trip.

He would talk about needing
to make some money,

and once or twice a year,

he would be gone
for sometimes a week,

sometimes two or three weeks
at a time,

and I don't remember ever
really knowing where he went.

I remember him telling stories
of his travel

like funny things he saw.

He would almost have always
bought us a gift or something,

but I don't remember
anything business-related.

He never really talked
about that.

Dad!

But I remember several trips
him coming home,

and he would be clean-shaven.

I hadn't seen him in a week
or two weeks or three weeks,

and so it was very obvious
when he came back

if he was clean-shaven,

so it was a big difference,
and I remember asking him, like,

"what happened?
You know, where's your beard?"

What happened
to your face?

You don't like it?
I think it looks better.

He would say something funny
like,

"well, wouldn't you rather
kiss my cheek when it's smooth?"

You know, he'd kind of joke
about it like that.

Come give me a kiss.

Hey, kiddo.

I always felt a sense of relief
when he came home

because I felt like our family
was back together.

Are you hungry?

But it was just part
of our routine

for him to leave for two weeks,


a couple times a year,

and I noticed different changes
in his appearance.

One time, he came home,
and his beard was gone,

but he had a mustache.

One time, his hair
was noticeably darker.

Looking back, I definitely think

he was changing
his appearance on purpose.

I remember seeing my dad
cleaning some coins.

Typically what that looks like
is they're spread out on a table

with different little bowls
of, like, a cleaner,

and he might soak it
for a few minutes,

and then you'd kind of Polish it
with a certain type of rag.

Hey, Pam.

Couldn't sleep?

In my mind, I believed he was
going from place to place to buy

and sell gold and silver
to make some money.

I grew up with my granddad being
a gold and silver trader

and selling coins,

and so seeing it did not seem
out of the norm for me.

Why don't you go back up
to bed?

And maybe that's why my dad
always had money,

but it was strange
because it wasn't normal for us

to have gold and silver
laying around our house.

I honestly believed all those
years that he was going around

and buying
and selling gold and silver.

When I think about my dad,

deliberate is a very good word
for him.

Everything he did, I feel like,

was very thought out
and planned.

Did you guys
like your fishing trip?

You caught a big one.Yeah.

I just remember sitting
in the living room,

and there was no TV
or anything on.

I think it was just
a very relaxed moment,

and we were just talking,

and my dad loved
hypothetical questions.

I have a good question.

And then my dad said,

"do you think that there's any
such thing as a perfect crime?"

And this was just out
of the blue, just a complete,

"do you think anyone has ever
committed the perfect crime?"

And I remember thinking,
"this is a really odd question."

But it was kind of in line
with stuff my dad would ask,

kind of these hypothetical
make-you-think questions.

I don't understand.

You do it so well
that you don't get caught.

And my brother said,

"yeah, there probably
is the perfect crime."

And I remember very clearly
saying,

"well, how would you know?

Because if you committed
the perfect crime,

no one would find out."Right?

If it's happened,
no one knows about it.

And he just sat there.

He didn't really say much.

He said, "well, I guess
you might be right."

And that was the end of it.

And then he was staring
straight ahead,

and he didn't engage
with me or anything.

Dad?

Dad?

After the fact,
it was a question

that I've gone back to many,
many times,

and I wish I could remember
more of the conversation

or more of his body language.

I just remember glancing at him
and him being very still

and just staring.

He had a very... Cold stare.

It was like he was lost


It was like he was not
even in our world.

I think it was
a very deliberate question.

I think he was probably fishing
to see if my brother

and I knew anything
or if we would say it if we did.

I honestly don't know why.
I know what we were told.

Anyone that knew my dad
knew he loved mountains,

and he loved the outdoors
and hunting and stuff like that,

so that was kind of the play
that he put on it,

"Alaska is like
the last frontier.

We've seen Wyoming and Montana
and Washington and Idaho,

and it's beautiful up there.
Let's go see it."

When they first told me,
I said, "no."

I wasn't gonna go because
I really loved where we lived,

and I loved my friends,
did not want to go to Alaska.

There was just nothing about it
I wanted to go to,

and it just felt like
the end of the earth to me.

But I think I kind of realized
I didn't really have a choice.

He just wanted to move,

so after my freshman year
of high school,

we moved that summer
to Alaska.

Here is the box
for the front closet.

What's the point?

It's not like
we're staying here.

Not this time.

We're gonna be here
a while.

I think things weren't right

and that there was
a lot more to the story.

I feel like something was kind
of forcing him to do that

or maybe he felt unsafe
for some reason.

I feel like he was looking
for a place to hide,

like there was probably
something that

he was running from.

Let's go get the table
outside.

Nobody move!

I just remember putting
my hands up,

and I remember being very upset
because he kept the g*n on me.

And I just remember thinking,

"why are you pointing
a g*n at me?

I haven't done
anything wrong."

This was a place not far
from our house in Alaska.

When I think about
my memories of Alaska,

that's what it looked like,
just water and mountains

and trees... untouched,
natural Alaskan wilderness.

I know my dad loved it
for its remoteness.

It's easier to hide,
and no one could see him,

so there's definitely
something to be said

for people that move
to remote locations.

It's very...
It's hard to find them

if they don't want to be found.

We had moved to Alaska
in the summer of 1989.

When we lived in Alaska,
money was very tight,

and I don't know why.

My mom was very stressed,
and she told me later

that we have,
like, virtually no money.

She was worried
we were gonna starve.

And so about nine months
later in may,

he went on probably his
longest trip that I remember.

Hey, honey!
Hey, there.

It's good to see you.

And it was probably
close to three months.

That was a very long time

because typically before they
had been a week or two weeks,

maybe three weeks at the most.

And when he came back,
I was kind of apprehensive

in a weird way to see him
because he had been gone

so long, but he was
very happy to be home.

Dad, hey.

Hey, kiddo! It's good to see you.

He just seemed more patient and
more loving and more attentive.

It was really
two or three days of just...

Really enjoyed
being together as a family.

One night, we were outside,
and it's just the four of us...

My mom, my dad,
my brother, and I...

And our dogs were out with us,

and the dogs just repeatedly
kept running towards the trees,

and they would bark, like,
at something in the trees.

Stop that barking!

I mean, it wasn't just,

"I'm barking to hear
the sound of my bark."

I mean, it was a very
intentional,

"something is in the trees."

And there was always...
I mean, you live in Alaska.

There's wild animals
all over the place,

but it's pretty rare for them
to come to your house.

Should we go see
what's bothering them?

No, it's probably just to mess
with another animal.

And I even remember at the time
thinking how strange that was

because my dad's typical
personality would be one to say,

"oh, let's all get in the truck

and see what
they're barking at."

He was kind of adventurous
that way.

And it was very different.

Like, it was just...
I remember thinking, like,

it was bothering him a lot
that those dogs were barking.

And I even remember at the time
thinking how strange that was

because we lived on 160 acres.

Your dogs aren't bothering
anybody by barking.

Thank you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

We're standing there, and up
the driveway walks a man.

I remember thinking at the time
it was out of character,

even as a 16-year-old kid,
thinking,

"who randomly comes up
to someone's house?"

Who's that?

And the guy was like, "oh, hi!
Sorry to bother you guys.

Is there any land
for sale around here?"

My wife and are looking
for some homes in the area.

Are you familiar with any
that are for sale?

And my dad mentioned a place,
and he said,

"well, I can't seem to find,

you know,
the drive for that location.

You know, which way
do I need to go?"

And he kind of asked
almost for directions.

And my dad, one gift that he had
was he was very charming.

He could talk to anybody,

and that was not
how that interaction was.

It seemed like he was kind of
weary, like he wasn't trying

to engage
this man in conversation.

It's getting late.

Right.

Well,
thanks for your time.

He answered the questions,
and that was it,

and so right after the man left,
we went into the house,

and I just remember it being
a normal night and going to bed.

I wish I could go back
to that time

to really ask my dad
what he thought was happening

because, looking back on it,

it was obvious something
was going on,

but, you know,
we didn't know that.

I remember him trying to
wake me up, kind of shaking me,

and when I looked up,
he was sitting there,

and he pulled me up.

Hey, kiddo.
It's time to get up.

He said, "you know I love you,
right?"

And I said, "yeah," and he said,

"well, always remember
that I love you."

I love you, Pam.

I love you too, dad.

I remember thinking
it was odd.

I knew he loved me,

but it wasn't words
that he spoke freely.

He didn't say he loved me often.

It wasn't a normal part
of our routine.

But I don't think you know that
your life is about to change.

Like, you don't realize
at those moments...

You know it's a moment
that means something,

but you don't understand
the meaning of it.

I believe that the dogs barking
and the person

walking up our driveway

and the way he woke me up
that morning,

I think he suspected something
the night before.

I wish that I could go back
to that time

and maybe stay up all night
with him and talk to him.

Morning, mom. Oh, hey!

Oatmeal is almost ready.

My mom had just said breakfast
was ready, and our phone rang.

My dad went
to get the phone.

Hello?

And he spoke for
just a few seconds.

There was quite a bit
of nervousness,

I guess, and then
he put the phone down,

and he said,
"I'll be right back."

I have to head out.

Where are you going?

And he took off.

I'll be back.

It was just odd.

He didn't really say goodbye.

He just... he bolted.

A few minutes later, we were
eating in the living room.

I got up to get something
out of the kitchen,

and the door flew open.

And a man with a machine g*n

was standing there
pointing it at me.

FBI!
Nobody move!

Nothing stops you in the tracks
like a person

with a machine g*n
pointed at you.

The door flew open,
and a man with a machine g*n

was standing there
pointing it at me.

FBI!
Nobody move!

And he said, "stop.
SWAT team. No FBI."

And they just stormed the house.

Get your hands up!

All right.
Let's go!

Move! Move!

And I just remember
putting my hands up,

and I remember being very upset
because he kept the g*n on me,

and I just remember thinking,

"why are you pointing
a g*n at me?

I haven't done anything wrong."

They asked us
what our names were,

and we kept saying,
"Weir,"

and he's like
"what's your dad's name?"

And I would say, "j.C. Weir."

It's Weir.

And then finally he said,
"is your last name sinclair?"

And when he said that, I knew
that they knew who we were.

I thought maybe it had to do
with the fire in new Mexico.

They grabbed me,
and they had my mom

and my brother come down
with their hands up,

and they put us all
in separate places

to isolate us
from each other.

I need to ask you
a few questions.

They were asking us questions
like,

"did you know your dad
had been in Montana?

What was he doing in Montana?
Why was he there?"

I had no idea he was there.

Like, I had absolutely no clue.

Where's my dad?

We have your dad
in custody.

But why?

They said that my dad
had been arrested

for the murders of two people
in Montana at a coin shop.

One owned the coin shop,
and one was an employee.

No, no, my dad would never
do anything like that.

I felt for sure they had
the wrong person.

Like, I know there's all
these red flags

about us moving and stuff,

but I just could not conceive
in that moment of time

that he was being arrested
for m*rder.

I thought for sure it was a case
of mixed identity or something.

It takes a lot to make the jump

to the fact that your dad
could've k*lled somebody.

It's not...

It's not an easy thing
to adjust to.

But, I mean, looking back at it,
I think they did us all a favor

by not arresting him
in front of us.

I would love to know
what that phone call said.

I felt like he was tricked
to get out for the house,

and I'm sure that they had
g*ns surrounding him,

and he was arrested.

I kept thinking if I could just
talk to my dad,

and he could explain this,

or he could answer questions,

but he was gone.

It hit kind of the newspaper
and the media

and the police hotlines,

and people started matching
other robberies

and murders to him.

It was probably over the next
few weeks that we learned

it was actually
a pattern of coin shops.

His standard m.O. Was he would
go into a coin shop,

ask if they had a certain piece.

He would often times make a plan,

either saying he wanted to buy
a large collection,

or he wanted to sell
a collection that he had.

They would be prepared
to make a deal,

and he would m*rder them

and then Rob
and steal coins and cash.

I heard him
mumble something,

and it sounds like what he
said was, "dumb b*stard,"

and I turned around quickly
to see what he said,

and then, for a split second,
I saw the g*n

and felt something hit me
in the head,

and I realized I had been shot.

I'm so glad that he survived

because I think he was able
to give a good description.

Here is the man
detectives from Jefferson

and snohomish counties
desperately want to catch.

He's large, 6-foot-3
to 6-foot-4-inches tall,


a bulging stomach,

in his early 40s with brown hair
and dark graying beard.

He was last seen wearing cowboy
clothes and a baseball cap.

And once that kind of hit
the news,

I think more and more people
started connecting the dots.

I believe that this was kind of
the first time

that they realized
that these different robberies

and murders were connected,

and then just a couple months
later was the two people

that were k*lled in billings
that ended it.

A witness reported they saw
a man leaving the coin shop

with two duffel bags
and got in a silver car,

and then a few days later,

that same car
was found at an airport,

and they found receipts
and items

that clued them into my dad.

He died in prison
on October 30th,

so he was in jail 77 days.

There was several theories
that ran around.

There was talk that he died
of a heart attack.

Somebody said he died
of an accidental overdose.

Somebody said
he committed suicide.

I've come to the conclusion
that it doesn't matter.

I mean, it matters,
but it doesn't matter.

He's gone,

and I can't change it.

I think that I honestly thought
up until that moment

that maybe the charges
would be dropped or something.

I mean, I know
that sounds silly,

but I think, in my mind,
I thought it would all go away.

His death was very hard
to accept.

When he left that morning
of August 13th,

I never saw him again.

I would've liked to have
seen him one more time.

This is a letter that my dad
wrote to us about a week or two

after he had been arrested.

It says, "Pam, just remember
that your mother and I love

you more than anything.

I know that we've said
this before,

but we all tend to just hear
someone say, 'i love you, '

and not take the time
to understand what you hear."

I'm glad that, 30 years later,
I have this to know that,

even then, he believed in me.

And I think he's right
when he says that he loved us

more than anything
on this earth.

I think that's...

Through everything,

that that's something
that I try to remember.

When I went off to college,
it dawned on me

it's not logical
for a normal person

to have all these charges
against them

if there's not something
that connects it.

To me, whether he was convicted
or not,

innocent people
lost their lives,

and almost every road
leads back to him.

My dad was k*lling people

and stealing money from them
to fund our life,

and I know that I have
no control over that,

but it makes you
just feel awful.

I just feel like
I'm somehow responsible,

and I know
that I'm not, ultimately,

but it's hard to not
feel shame and guilt

and just feel like everything
that he touched is ruined,

how many lives he did ruin.

I just... I have such pain
and compassion

for his victims
and their families.

And I don't expect them
to forgive my dad,

but I hope that they don't carry
that bitterness in their hearts,

and I hope that they know
that I feel for them, that I...

If I could take it back
or if I could change it,

I would.