Sick of Vick


“He’s really come a long way. I don’t like what he did, but you have to admit he’s really turned his life around.”

A woman uttered these words at the dogpark tonight. I nearly chewed off my tongue until she said “It’s not his fault. All he ever knew was dog fighting. It’s what he grew up with.” And then I stopped stopping myself. Bullshit.

It’s the beginning of the season so I’m going to do this once and be done with it.

I do not care if it’s “all he ever knew”. I do not care if it’s “what he grew up with”. At some point in our lives we grow up and we learn right from wrong and we make our choices for how we will live our lives. At some point, we realize that the activity in which we are engaged, if it is dog fighting, is wrong nay ILLEGAL. If at that point you still do it, encourage it, engage in it, or merely allow it to happen around you then you have made your bed. Now lie in it.

Am I to applaud him for every day he does not kill an innocent animal for poor performance? Am I suppose to be sad that he is not allowed to live with dogs?

He served his sentence, he did not wipe the slate clean.

That’s what I have to say about what he did.

Here is what I have to say about his continued success as a professional athlete.

Michael Vick is a convicted felon. I will repeat this for those of you who missed it. MICHAEL VICK…IS…A…CONVICTED…FELON. I don’t particularly care how good he is at his job. He is not the first quarterback to grace the field, nor will he be the last. There are tens of thousands of young men out there who would love the opportunity to play professional football who have not been convicted of heinous acts. Give them the chance to play.

Professional athletes have served as heroes and inspiration to so many of us. Having a role model or someone worth aspiring to is critical to our growth. Especially the growth and development of children. We should want our children to look up to someone who worked hard, lived well, and showed them that they can do anything if they put their minds to it.

All I think about when I see Michael Vick is that this man killed, read the apology written by his publicist, will pocket $100 million dollars in the next 6 years, and hear his name cheered by adoring fans.

What the hell kind of lesson is that?

I’ve been asked “Where’s your forgiveness?” Someone must have strangled it, drowned it, and smashed it to the ground when it failed to forgive the way I wanted it to.

 

Thoughts on a page


It’s exhausting being strong. Pretending things don’t bother me. Pretending I don’t need anybody. Pretending these aren’t tears rolling down my cheek. Pretending I don’t want someone to share my day with. Pretending “I got this.”

It’s not all pretending, all of the time. I’m dreadfully self-sufficient. Everything I am and everything I have, I’ve done for myself. I thank no one for my hard work and discipline. I blame no one for my choices.

It’s not that anyone asked me to. I use to just think I should. I use to think the silent request was for me to find my own way and leave the rest for others. If I didn’t need it then accepting it was stealing it from others. Others more worthy. Others more needing.

I’m good at it, though. Pretending.

As much as I hate pretending, I’d hate not pretending even more. Then I’d be weak. Then I’d be needy. I’d be somebody who needs someone. Then I’d have to trust. Trust doesn’t grow on trees nor is there a place for it here. It’s okay, though. It’s better this way.

It’s better for you to think I’m made of ice. It’s easier to pretend that’s not the sound of my heart breaking.

It’s better that I don’t need you. Now there is no chance of your disappointing me.

It’s better for me to cry alone in my room. Tears are rarely useful and you’ve got your tears, too.

It’s better not to share my days with another. The day when he leaves can never come.

It’s better to pretend “I got this.” I will. Someday, I will.

My secret is: Things bother me, I do need somebody, I cry all the time, and I don’t really got this.

But I will. Someday. I will.