Michael Vick doesn’t know it, but he cost me a friendship of over 20 years.
When two of my college girlfriends came to Philadelphia a few days after Christmas last year, it was supposed to be a joyous visit. We hadn’t seen each other in a while. My one girlfriend – let’s call her Lia – had her teenage son in tow, a lovely young man quickly transitioning from boyhood to manhood, and I was particularly looking forward to seeing him. It was also to be a belated celebration for my other friend – let’s call her Jackie – and her graduation from law school months earlier. Almost two decades after getting her B.A., she’d returned to school for a law degree.
It was going to be fun hanging out with them and showing them the city sights. And that’s how the day went – at first.
For much of the afternoon, Jackie and I were having an ongoing discussion about Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Michael Vick. She is and always has been a huge sports fan, an interest we’d shared over basketball games and team rivalries. Jackie has always been a no-nonsense, opinionated, blunt person, traits that work in her favor in her new career as a lawyer.
