The "Old Block" Tells All.

  My guess is that we are all addicted to air, water, and food, but beyond that, what has an uncontrollable grip on you, and will not let go? Do you know it by name? Is it a noun or a verb, (a person, place, thing, or perhaps an activity)? Is it making you strong or making you weak? Is it extending your life or shortening your existence? These are just a few of the questions you must ask yourself before you indulge in that next sip, snort, dip, or whiff of your chosen poison. Some medical professionals say, “Anything in moderation”! However, there are numerous cases where the indulgence with a chosen poison was a first and last time choice. Meaning it became a fatal choice that defied moderation. Like the young girl who was glued to her cell phone and stepped off the curb in front of a semi-truck before her younger brother could grab her or warn her to stop! Or the young man who had one fateful snort of cocaine that permanently stopped his heart! I am sure you could dig up many fir

  What a stupid title! It is not a question, (although it does start with “why”). It is not a misspelled word, (although it should be “son”). However, there is no question that I love him, and have loved him since the day he was born. (And probably nine months before that too!) My son is the sun to me! He is my morning and my sunset, because he is the Chip that came from this Old Block, in more than just words. I never use the word “proud” when I speak or even think of my children, (as you know, “ Pride Goeth Before the Fall ”)! I simply say they make me happy! Anyone who knows the Old Block, remembers that he would not even date a girl unless she had babies already, because all my life I wanted to be called “Dad”! (I never had one, you know. At least not one that I met; only my BFAMs Dennis and Lewis had that privilege. Cliffy and I are still “in search of”.) So, I only brag about the pure joy they bring me, simply by being on the planet. There is nothing they ever have to do to earn

  Deep in the heavily wooded forest, a pretty little bird named Robin Redbreast, lived in the tallest pine tree, with her three little hatchlings, Betty, Bobby and Billy. With eyes wide-shut and mouths wide-open, they could be heard to say, “Chirp, Chirp, Squawk!” every morning when they woke up. “Chirp”, said Betty. “Good morning, Mother.” “Chirp”, said Bobby. “Good morning, Mother.” “Squawk”, said Billy. “I’m hungry, Mom!” Robin Redbreast had made a comfy little nest for her hatchlings, with seemingly no help from their father, who had flown off to see the world, before the hatchlings were even born. Robin did not care, though, because Betty, Bobby and Billy were all that mattered to her. And like all good moms, Robin protected her hatchlings from all two-legged and four-legged predators. (She was not worried about six-legged and eight-legged creatures because they would become a tasty meal if they ventured too close to her nest.) “Yummy”, she said at the thought of such multi-legged