Finally Free (15 page)

I felt like everything I had worked for in developing a relationship with my dad and helping him was practically undone at the time. I wanted no more part of him. I forgave him when he did it, but I knew it would be awhile before I could talk to him and honestly confront him about the situation.

Basically, what my dad did hurt my case. From that point on, I made a vow to myself: I was going to try and do the right things
in my life moving forward; I wasn't going to let the outside world have an effect on me; I was going to be conscious of the people I let into my life, even if it was family.

I believe my dad was jealous of the role my high school coach, Tommy Reamon, played in my life as I grew up and developed into an NFL quarterback. It wasn't only jealousy, though, that I believe motivated my father's comments, which seemed bizarre to me. He was doing drugs at that time, and I saw the effect it had on the person I thought I knew.

I took that with me to prison too. Until he changed his life, he was a scary person to be around. But the thing is, he's usually a very giving, likable person. When he did what he did, you could see how drugs could change a person.

Thankfully, my relationship with my father began to mend after I was released from prison, and it has improved steadily since then. He's gotten his life into a much better place too.

My legal troubles led the Falcons to pursue a return of some of the signing-bonus money they had already paid me for my contract from 2004. The club initially aimed to get back $20 million, but eventually was awarded the right to about $6.25 million.

I'll be honest: when Mr. Blank came after the signing-bonus money, I kind of had mixed feelings about it. Together, we changed the culture and the whole perspective on Atlanta Falcons football. I felt like I had helped that franchise generate a lot of money. When he asked for the signing bonus back, the only thing I could
think was,
Why would he do that if he cared so much about me and my family and what I did to help the Falcons organization?

But on the flip side, I think about how he sat me in his office, asked me to be honest—told me to just tell the truth about everything—and I didn't. I also realized how much trouble my difficulties caused for Mr. Blank and the Falcons. Everything from imaging to business and financial affairs was affected. So, honestly, at the end of the day, no, I wasn't upset. I understood. I'm a guy who believes if you're right, you're right, and if you're wrong, you're wrong. I was totally wrong. So I can't be mad at Mr. Blank for doing what he thought was right.

Since those difficult days, I'm humbled to say that Mr. Blank hasn't turned his back on me; we continue to have a strong relationship. After my life and career got turned around, he contacted me multiple times during the 2010 season to communicate words of encouragement.

It's nice to have a friend you can count on—who will be there caring for you throughout life no matter what mistakes you've made.

After all I did to hurt his franchise, he could've chosen to distance himself rather than to draw close, but he is that kind of person—a good person—for what he does as a philanthropist, for what he does in the community, for what he does for his football team and his players. He truly cares.

He'll forever receive blessings. It's why the Lord sent Matt Ryan to be his new quarterback and Mike Smith to be their coach. Both of them are excellent at what they do, and that's why they're having
success. Wide receiver Roddy White has emerged as a great player. They've got a great running back in Michael Turner, they signed pass rusher John Abraham on defense, and they're filling up the stands. Mr. Blank is going to reap his blessings.

I screwed up down there in Atlanta. I feel bad about it, and I wish I could redo it all. But we can't go back. Mr. Blank is enjoying his life. He's enjoying football. I'm doing the same. It's what we both desired for each other. I never wanted to see that franchise fail, and I never once rooted against them. I want to see them excel, and they've been doing that.

Not only did I hear from the Falcons as my legal troubles mounted, I heard from the league too.

I heard from Commissioner Goodell only in the form of a stern letter. He didn't call to ask why I lied or why I didn't tell the truth. He didn't have to—it was all in the indictment. He knew I was a liar. I felt so bad. There was no one to turn to and no one to explain anything to, because I had done all the explaining I could do at the time. It was all a lie anyway—trying to protect myself, my endorsements, everything I worked for, and what little credibility I had left.

Before going to prison, I failed a drug test during my third week on probation for smoking marijuana. Then the only thing Commissioner Goodell did was send someone from the NFL substance abuse program—a policy guy—out to the house to drug test me twice a week during the month before I was incarcerated. It was
all I ever heard from Commissioner Goodell. I didn't meet with the commissioner again until after I was released from prison. We didn't talk; there was just silence. Later on, he did pass a couple of messages through my agent, just to see how I was doing, to see if I was okay. But I didn't expect to hear from him. I had lied to him. Whatever trust he had in me, I threw it down the drain.

Looking back, I'm deeply sorry for everything that happened and how it happened. I wish I could turn back the hands of time and do it differently. I understand that what I did was wrong. I especially wish I'd never talked to Tony that day in March 2001. But it was a choice I made. It was my fault.

If I had the chance to take back one thing that I have done in my life, it would be what happened to those dogs. But I got caught up in that lifestyle and my own lies, and I didn't change or see that I needed to change at the appropriate time. The only thing I can do now is to try to make it right by seeking to help more animals than I have hurt by doing things like speaking to kids, schools, and groups through the Humane Society about the evils of dogfighting.

Now, when I reflect on everything, I believe God intervened when He needed to in order to put a stop to it. He had been giving me all those warning signs; He was gently trying to get my attention. Unfortunately for me, though my wings were coming unglued, it wasn't enough. So He had to hit me with something harder.

He gave me a chance. He gave me three months—April through July—to go to all these people and say, “Look, I was wrong.” He gave me the opportunity to get the correct advice and use it. But I didn't do it.

Eventually, it was as if God said, “Kid, I offered you a chance to get this thing right. Now carry yourself to jail.” I know He didn't say it like that, but I can imagine Him saying, “Go on. You need to do some time. You need to learn a lesson.”

Chapter Seven

Family Matters

“I hit the ground hard. I was leaving my foundation—my family.”

 

I
had become a “me” guy. Nothing else mattered.

But during the weeks leading up to November 19, 2007—the day I began serving my prison sentence—I realized how valuable my family was. Not to say they weren't important before, but I had certainly become preoccupied and distracted with things I shouldn't be involved in, things that took me away from my family.

I was flying high—blinded by the clouds—unable to see my foundation below. But in the weeks leading up to November 19, I could see it better than ever.

I hit the ground hard. I was leaving my foundation—my family.

I wasn't planning on going out that night. But I'm glad I did.

It was 2002, and my friends were trying to get me to go to a nightclub one night in Virginia.

“C'mon,” they told me. “C'mon, let's go hang out.”

All I wanted to do was relax. It was the offseason. And I didn't feel like going anywhere. But I went.

The nightclub is where I met the woman who would become my wife, Kijafa. I wouldn't call it “love at first sight,” but it was pretty close. I'd call it more of an “apple of my eye” experience. I was looking at her across the way. She had a round face, pretty eyes, and a certain demeanor about her. She was cute, and for some reason, she stood out to me.