Second Chances

Of course this was bound to happen. In sports, much as in Big Business, the powers-that-be don't really care about little things such as right and wrong, morals, setting good examples, or just generally being an asset to the greater good of society.

Michael Vick was signed by the Philadelphia Eagles.

Now, I am by no means a football fan. In fact, I'm pretty much a one-sport guy, and so it's usually baseball or nothing. I do, however, read sports news all the time. So I know about the Big Stories. I read about the tragedy of Sean Taylor. I saw the news stories on Plaxico Burress' bizarre mistake.

And I know all about what Michael Vick did.

Our society is very forgiving. There are very few things, I think, that someone could do that they would never be forgiven for. Murder is generally frowned upon, for example. And we tend to lock up thieves as well. (In Spain, they do not do this. When we were robbed in Spain, the police said they knew who it was, but that they wouldn't arrest him because it was his livelihood. I kid you not)

However, if a person generally shows enough remorse, the American people will typically, sometimes grudgingly, forgive them their crimes. Not always, of course. But often.

I'm hoping, with every fiber of my being, that this is not one of those times.

Michael Vick is a savage. Pure and simple. His actions were barbaric and cruel in the most heinous of ways.

He fought dogs. That is horrible in and of itself.

Can dogfighting be forgivable though? Not for me, certainly. For most other people? I shudder to think so, but I'm afraid it might be. If he showed enough remorse. Which Vick hasn't. The one interview I saw of him after his release where he said "It was something I'm ashamed of", or some such, you could tell he was laughing on the inside. His whole apology was a joke. He could barely contain the hint of a smile.

Let's not forget though that he didn't just fight these dogs. He murdered them if they didn't fight hard enough. And he didn't just 'put them to sleep', either. He killed them in the most brutal and grotesque ways he could. He shot them, he hanged them, he drowned them. He slammed them to the ground, crushing them.

No doubt he relished it.

So now the Philadelphia Eagles are giving him a "second chance". Already there are fans writing raving comments on the internet, expressing their rabid excitement at the prospect he might bring the Eagles a Superbowl ring. Tickets for his debut in an Eagles uniform - at Atlanta, site of his old team - have already sold out.

Anyone associated with the Eagles should be ashamed of this signing, and personally, I hope the franchise has the worst season in its history.

If they win, this convicted criminal could be the hero of a franchise; the adoration of a generation of fans.

Just think - the youth of Philadelphia, or elsewhere who remain fans of the Eagles, could be wearing this:

And kids would want to play with one of these:

All in honor of the man who did this.

And this.

Think about it. If it were your child, would you want this man to be their idol?

Legacies

On August 3rd, 1941, just months before the United States would enter the Second World War, two people who would have a most profound effect upon the likelihood and shape of my life, got hitched.

My grandparents, Betty and Walter O'Neill, often took care of me growing up, especially during the period of time that we all lived in Florida. They would whisk me away from my parents (we always met at a restaurant whose name sadly escapes me now, but I remember I ALWAYS ordered the fried alligator. It was awesome.), and take me to their own home where my grandmother always had popsicles in the freezer, and all manner of fun board-games to play, movies to watch, puzzles to build, and cards to play. It was always a perfect stay when I stayed with my grandparents.

They often came and visited us wherever we lived, too.

Including a prolonged visit to Spain, where they stayed (lived, really) long enough to make life-long friends of their own.

I remember one New Year's Eve in particular, spent with my grandparents, and the grandparents of some very dear family friends of ours.

In Spain, there's a tradition that you eat 12 grapes - one for each chime of the clock as it strikes 12 - by the end of the 12th gong. Being a child, I mis-understood the instructions and thought you just had to fit all 12 grapes into your mouth by the end of the 12 chimes. To my great delight, I succeeded.

Unfortunately not everyone was as duly impressed as I thought they should be. As I struggled to smile with 12 large, green grapes expanding every inch of my small 6-year-old mouth, they mistook the tears of intense pride in my eyes to be the watery eyes that are so indicative of a person desperately struggling for oxygen. I somewhat recall my grandfather pounding my back as his friend tried to claw the grapes out of my mouth, and the two ladies making a great deal of fuss in the background.

Straight away I knew I would have an unlucky year. In my 6-year-old mind I was cursed because of a slight mis-understanding. It was such an injustice.

It was my grandmother, Grammy to me, who taught my mother how to play Rummy 500. She in turn, taught it to her own children and just about anyone else who could match her competitiveness when it comes to cards (or at the least, endure it).

Grammy was also the one who would hold me in her arms, and scratch my back ever so delicately. I would always insist that she wore her "back-scratching sweater". It was a black wool button-down sweater with a sort of lace-like pattern and quality to it. To this day, I don't know why it held such an attachment for me, except that it was my Grammy's sweater.

My grandfather, Grampy, served in the World War, first as a tank driver, and then as a submarine engineer. During the war, Grammy and Grampy wrote letters to each other. Real war letters. I remember being duly impressed with them as a child.

After the war, Grampy created his own oil company, and started off by literally carrying the oil to his customers on his shoulders. Have you ever tried lifting one of those up onto your shoulders? They're damned heavy.

He had a great, big, booming voice that always warmed any room, and breathed life and energy into any family gathering. He loved toy trains, L&L models in particular. I got to build some models with him, too, including a model replica of his own U.S.S. Archerfish, the sub he served on during the war.

He loved tapioca, and my grandmother's minced-meat pies. He loved to "eat dessert first", and always made sure there was a "breakfast dessert".

He lived life large, and was full of happiness and love for everyone.

A little over a year ago, just after my wife and I returned home from our honeymoon, my grandfather, Grampy, Walter O'Neill, passed away.

And this past Friday, the 24th of July, my Grammy followed him.

In some ways, it was a blessing. Grammy had long been suffering Alzheimer's, to the extent that in large part, she'd been gone from us - mentally at least - for many years.

She was clearly missed Grampy, too. I remember watching her at Grampy's funeral. She sat in her wheelchair, looking frail. She sighed, and slumped her shoulders as if there was a terrible weight on them.

Despite all these facts, or blessings, or whatever you want to call them, I miss her. I miss them both. I miss Grammy's back-scratches. I miss watching and helping her put together puzzles. I miss the freezer that was always stocked with popsicles. I miss Grampy's big voice, and deep appreciation for good food and great company. I miss the way he always lived happily, no matter the circumstances. I miss watching Grammy swat at Grampy as he stole her minced-meat pies she'd baked for Thanksgiving dinner, only to yell at him "Serves you right!" when he burnt his tongue on his illicit bounty. I miss learning card games from Grammy. I miss teasing her about losing a rare and extremely valuable penny. I miss building models with Grampy. I miss arm-wrestling him, too, or hearing all the wonderful stories of their lives. I miss hearing Grampy sing tour-a-loora-loora to, and with, my mum. I miss being able to give them a hug and telling them that I love them.

I just miss my Grammy and Grampy.

All four of my grandparents have left such an undeniable mark upon the entire extended family, and upon myself. Three of them that are gone now, but they've left behind them loving memories, loving families, and impacts on history and their communities that are both numerous and expansive.

It certainly gives me pause to wonder what kind of legacy I will leave behind. If it's even a quarter of the kind of lasting effect on the world and people around me that any one of them have had, I would be both happy and proud.

Apples

I recently aquired this awesome book. (For title information, see comments - there, I'm not plagerizing!) In reading it, I've learned all sorts of fascinating things. For example, did you know that the Apple Tree was once considered a holy tree, sacred to the god Apollo? I sure didn't, but there's more! It was also a sacred tree to the Celts - perhaps not as surprisingly since the Isle of Avalon draws its name from the ancient Welsh name for apple (afal).

Believe it or not, that's still not what really blew my mind though. What I found so incredible is that, if you slice an apple in half, across its mid-section (ie horizontally), the seeds of the apple form a perfect pentagram.

And the pentagram, of course, is one of the oldest symbols known to mankind. It's thought to date from over 6000 years ago to the region around the Tigris river, and was created as a result of astronomical research. It's probable that this shape was concieved from observations of the planet Venus, which actually moves in the pattern of the pentagram over the course of four years and one day.

Pythagoras held that it was the symbol of mankind, and that it represented the five divisions of the body and soul. 5 is also the sum of 2 and 3...2 is the feminine number without which we cannot have all the dynamics upon which we base everything we know. For example, if there weren't two of something, we could not have a good one and a bad one, we could only have one. We couldn't have light and dark, big and small, ugly and pretty, etc...all this makes two the number of balance and conflict, and of split personality (maybe this is why it is the symbol representing women! - just kidding ladies). 3, on the other hand, is the masculine number, for what's probably fairly obvious (physical) reasons.

Anyways, when you combine 2 and 3, you get 5, which then makes 5 the number of marriage, and of joining the two genders!

What's so neat about this is that in Christian teachings, of course, Eve gives Adam an apple (the bible itself just says its the fruit of the forbidden tree - never states it's an apple, but it certainly fits the symbolism).

So this begs the question: What was that wisdom that we were not supposed to know?

Of course, Adam and Eve suddenly realized they were different, and sought to cover themselves (with fig trees, which also have pretty cool symbolism, but I'll save that for another day). Was it that we have free choice? Or was it the discovery of sex?

Regardless of what that wisdom, or secret knowledge, that was gleaned all those centuries ago - the fact that all this powerful symbolism can be rolled up into one simple fruit is pretty amazing.

So don't forget - an apple a day, keeps the doctor away!