Two Full Pounds, One Full Toilet
I’ve written about Terri Schiavo twice before, once actually halfway in a coherent state. And I’ve come to the conclusion that I didn’t do this woman justice. Seeing her mother about to break down really got to me. I really feel for her family. Pretty soon they will be without their daughter, a child they’ve fought to hold onto for over the past 13 years. It’s really heartbreaking. And what’s really sad is that they’ve never found a way to let her go, even now. They’re hoping for something that will never ever come.
I was watching Patricia Heaton on Entertainment Tonight, yesterday. You know how we all like that feeling when we learn that Brad Pitt and Heidi Klum think like we do. Anyway, Entertainment Tonight was trying to be newsworthy, having celebrities express their feelings about the case. And Patricia Heaton was talking about how she could never do that to one of her kids, pull the feeding tube and watch them die through starvation. And she started crying big time.
And I guess I could agree with her, which is why most of us probably wouldn’t want our parents to have that say over a situation like this. I mean, my mother probably would keep me alive forever if she could, my head floating in some Tupperware, chilling in the freezer, waiting for some miracle cure. And I guess that’s why I love her. She’d keep me alive no matter what. But I know if I ever married, my woman would make sure I died quickly. The only fear would be that she’d try to take me out before my time. I’d wake up one night with my woman trying to do a Kervorkian on a brother, a pillow over my face trying to “assist me” in “suicide.”
But I guess that’d be on me, like that Michael dude is on Terri. Sometimes we get screwed over the choices we make. But it ain’t nobody’s fault but our own. And nobody can fix it but us. And in Terri’s case, it’s beyond repair. She chose an asshole, and now that asshole has been given the responsibility of making the ultimate choice in her life. Some may think he shouldn’t be making that choice. But Terri made that decision long ago. She gave that dude that right long ago, and it’s on her. So, I guess I’m done rubbing it in.
In fact, I think I’m kind of tired of it all, just like my man Barry. I feel like my homeboy. I’m tired, too. I’m tired of all the children playing and laughing outside. I’m tired of the young lovers holding hands in the park. I’m tired of American Idol and telephone numbers. I’m tired of Christmas. Why ain’t the Pope dead, yet? Why Ain’ts I Be Gotten No Monay?
And I’m tired of Bernie Mac, who sounds more and more like Bill Cosby the more I see him. Word to Bernie, you used to be funny. Now you’re not. I think you should have pulled the plug on yourself when you couldn’t breathe. Then, at least we’d continue to remember you fondly. Unfortunately, you’re still alive, and you’re going to continue to embarrass yourself in old age. Too bad.
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