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Dick moments

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We all have dick moments. Which is funny, because most of the time we don’t think we have dick moments. We only think other people have dick moments. So we find those moments, point them out, analyze them, tear down the other person as a dick.

When, truthfully, we’re not different.

Perfect example from today. The family and I visited nearby Newport Beach, one of the most beautiful stretches in the world. I was climbing along some rocks with my kids, tiptoeing through the shoreline, when a couple of kids came across a tentacle reaching out from under a rock. “What is that?” I asked.

“An octopus!” one responded.

I walked on over, and the boys were shoving a large stick beneath the rock, trying to dislodge the creature. I was mesmerized, fascinated, riveted—and I applauded their efforts. “You’re getting it!” I bellowed. And, indeed, they got it. Before long the octopus—having ejected ink as a warning signal—was being held in the arms of one of the boys.

“Wow!” I said. “Nice work!”

Only it wasn’t nice work. It was friggin’ cruel, and I can’t believe I stood there, supporting the efforts. The octopus was merely chilling, trying to live its life. No argument could be made on behalf of he boys or the stick.

Put different: I had a dick moment.

This doesn’t mean I’m a dick. But were one to judge me based off of that five-minute span, he would assume (perhaps rightly) that I’m a heartless asshole and an endorser of cruelty to animals.

The point, albeit late, is that I try really hard not to judge people off of instances. Someone isn’t a dick merely because he forgets to hold open a door for you. Or because he honks at you. Or because he tracks mud on your carpet. We all have blind spots. We all have weaknesses.

I cheered on the bludgeoning of an octopus.

That’s pretty damn dickish.

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