The "Old Block" Tells All.

  What’s so doggone funny is my former life! “Adult lips on a child” is what’s so doggone funny. Outhouses and picking cotton for a living are not so funny! Growing up in the fifties as a poor, black step-son of an ex-military, migrant worker is also very unfunny. Can you imagine sitting in a man-made, wooden box situated over a temporary hole in the ground, that was full of “your guess is as good as mine”, and smells worse than “who did it and what for”? That is a childhood description of the neighborhood outhouse! “Toilet paper? What is that?” “Here, crumple up this brown paper bag a few times until it gets good and soft.” (Did I not mention the black widow spiders that lived under the seat and fed on the flies that spawned there?) Near the putrid, neighborhood outhouse was the perfect battlefield. It was cluttered with hard dirt, rocks, and various other debris.  Dirt-clod fights were a poor kid’s national pastime. You would launch a salvo of packed dirt at your pre-selected and

Come on, dad. Wake up! You are the ultimate educator and adjudicator in your home. It is time to step up and give your progeny a fighting chance. Teach them everything, but when they are old enough, “Let them drive their own car.” You provide the GPS and maybe a little fuel, but the destination should be their own. You should only intervene to prevent them from driving off a cliff or having a head-on collision with misfortune. Daughters are very special. They get their first free hugs from you. (Little boys and big boys want them to pay dearly and severely for symbols and actions that denote love and affection.) Don’t let your daughter leave the house hungry for love, hugs or kisses. Fill her tank up with the good stuff, so she can make it back home safely, to get filled up with more free hugs again and again. Sons, however, are knuckleheads until they grow out of the “passenger” phase of life. You know how they are. They follow and emulate the “alpha dog” in their pack, and perfor

  Okay, ladies, turn your heads away for a moment. I need to render some mental images and pose a few queries to the men folk in attendance today. Yes, this is the “Old Block Church of What is on Your Filthy Mind”. You are a man, right? That instantly qualifies you as a purveyor of the almighty three “F’s”! (Food, Fighting, and F*cking, for the coarse among us. Gentlemen never use such terms, whether in mixed company or not, and certainly not in church!) So, the question on the table is, “Can you discern whether she is a flower or a weed?” Look around the congregation, and point that powerful digit of discernment at each lady in attendance, asking yourself, (or the digit), “Is she a flower or a weed?” (If you are a gynecological botanist, you are instantly disqualified from this exercise. You know way too much already!) Allow me to lay the groundwork for this little social experiment. Some girls are like delicate, fragrant flowers, but if they are in someone else’s garden, you can

I am an old-school war veteran, with new-school ideas, and a burning desire for perpetual knowledge and life appreciation. (I was the CEO of Sew Wonderful Fashions, LLC; Vice President of New Power Source, Inc.; and I am currently Secretary of the Board with Tekura Jegnas, Inc., and I continue to write and design products at my leisure.) At my core, I am a "People Person", who focuses more on character than appearance or status. (I, myself was raised as a migrant worker, in the fifties.) I have an affinity for the elderly, who need selfless love and constant reinforcement, as well as youngsters, who require persistent guidance and tempered discipline. I am an internationally-published writer, former Hollywood stunt-fight coordinator, vocalist and spokesperson, and graphic artist. However, for this endeavor, I embody the persona of a consummate gamer, passionate husband and father, as well as a lover of beauty, (in all forms). I died in 2016, right after my long-awaited retire