Divine Justice~Good for God

97 percent of all men, women, and children know of Jesus Christ’s story. It is no longer about faith, or even believing if the stories are real, true, or believable for them, it is all about the message.

Many mothers and fathers are leaving it up to their children to decide what to believe in so they stop teaching, preaching and the bibles are placed on a shelf as a status symbol. To own a bible is not enough, to read it is not enough, to understand it is not enough, but to know why it is there is all the blessing you can hope for. The stories in the bible no matter what version you choose are there as guidance and was never intended to be taken literally but to be interpreted by each one of us.

The bible tells tales of another time, a time without modern convenience, a time where choices were fewer. The stories are meant to be read, then digested, then pondered, and finally interpreted in a way that only the mind of the individual reader can. One man cannot tell another what the bible stories mean because it is too personal to be confined to one set of ideals.

When Jesus was taken, placed on the cross, so many in modern times see it as a cruel way to die and it is. Back in the time, that was the way. To hang on a cross as passers look upon you as bad people for what you have done but what many do not know, is that the masses were tied to the cross, Jesus was not. The nails were symbols of mans own weaknesses. Man was so afraid of what Jesus might do that they were not taking any chances. In there mindset, that was insurance. We must take that for what it was for the time. We always think of it as Jesus dying for our sins but to bring it more into focus, he placed his life before anyone else’s. In modern time it would be like taking a bullet for someone you love, like running into a burning building to save someone you never met, or to push a stranger out of the way of a moving bus only to place yourself in harms way. Jesus believed in a better place therefore he knew by suffering and dying he would be sending a strong message to the masses.

Now we are at a time in life that mirrors those days of old. We have no hero’s to push us out of the way of that moving bus, or run to help us get out of that burning building, we only have a reminder of what one man did so many years ago. He reminds us to put others first, to help where we can, and no matter how little we can help, it is something. To think that a single man’s memory can stay with so many over such a long period of time should be amazing to you if not anything else. For those who think it is hogwash, think about that part of it.

We seem to be blaming God for everything. When does the Devil get some of the blame? Here is some of the difference so next time you wont jump to conclusions. Floods, that’s a good one to start with. God created one flood, all the rest is just the course of nature. God can be blamed for birth, some death, when he needs someone special. God can be blamed for a darn good idea you know, like the one you came up with just the other day. You can also blame God for, happiness, sweet smells, and everyone who has a good heart. Ok, devil, your turn. The devil can be blamed for death, when it is at the hand of another, fire, all kinds, and hatred in fellow humans, and many accidents on our roads. Now remembering the third kind of evil as well as good is created by man, like pollution, oil spills, divorce and blogging. It can be quite complicated at times for humans to understand. When a child dies, we tend to blame god, if it is God who has taken that child he had a good reason, but in most cases, it wasn’t the work of God.

Here are some of the things we need to stop doing in the name of God. We need to stop asking, “Why me, why did they need to die so young, and the ever so popular, Jesus Christ, when we hit our finger with a hammer. God don’t want to hear it. The more we do it, the stronger the devil gets as he laughs in our face.

In the name of God, so many are confused. People die all the time, our rivers burn, babies fall from windows, and we ask God why. God is not the cause of mans own doing and it is time for mankind to take responsibility for his actions. To blame is easier then to own up to our mistakes. We build dams and they break, we make choices, and when those choices are not the right ones and we tend to blame God.

We have so many self righteous people walking around trying to force God down our throat no matter how much you believe. If you think of God in a different way then they think you should, you are wrong in their minds. This is BS. Preaching in the name of the Lord isn’t about God, it is about bucks. I think it is wrong to tell someone that they need to donate and how much they need to donate. If we all stop donating to these houses in the name of God, they will go away, cease to exist, but you know what? God will still be on 97 percent of everyone’s mind.

When people believe that harming a fellow man is in the name of the lord, then the devil has done his job. When a person spreads good around, helping others whenever they can, that my friends if God doing his job. And let no man tell you when, where, or how to believe for they are just men.


Gastric Bypass ~Tools for the Lazy

Let’s face reality here; gastric bypass surgery is not a last resort for the obese that tried everything they could, if they did, they would not even think of having this needless surgery. I might be going out on a limb here but that’s what I do every day of my life. I hold no punches, and if you are so sensitive then see a shrink.

I have been seeing more and more morbidly obese males and females, stuck in their beds needing the fire department to save them. Who is feeding these uncontrollable people so much that they get to a thousand pounds plus? If you eat right, do daily exercise and stop obsessing on your oral fixation, you will lose weight.

Here is an easy experiment you can try. Sit somewhere in any mall. Watch people as they pass you. I will tell you that you will see all kinds pass you but, out of one hundred percent of the people passing you by, I will tell you right now, you will see people two hundred pounds or less pass you holding shopping bags, and two hundred pounds or more holding some form of fattening foods as they walk by you, pretzels, iced cream, donuts. They are people that don’t care about how they look or feel. These same people will gain weight until they can’t even walk any more then ask loved ones to feed their uncontrollable feeding frenzies.

America is at the age of the easy way out and I personally am tired of it. Try going to a food store and watch all the “big boned” people who are riding around in their rascals that the store supplies to handicaps. If these people were concerned about losing the weight, they would walk through the stores like the rest of us. All of these riders are not fat, some have a bona fide reason for needing these special buggies to get around, but for the fatty that is just lazy, and shame on you.

Some will tell you that they get winded if they walk ten feet. I say, walk five feet then turn back and go in the house. Do this every day and after a week you will increase it to ten feet. After a few months you will be losing the weight and walking more and more. Now, you don’t have to diet, just eat normal portions. If you eat your fast food, don’t eat seventeen hamburgers, eat one, even two. My god people, if you don’t even try, why would you even think of getting cut up, it is unnatural. You can try and tell others that you have tried, and you don’t eat that much but still you weight a thousand pounds but this guy just aint buying it. You are lazy and I am just calling it as I see it. If you have a problem with any of what I just said, then feel free to argue with me. I ask only a few rules, don’t lie, don’t hide the true amount of food you intake, and don’t hand me any of your BS.

A Metamorphosis in Progress

We start to die as soon as we are born and that’s a simplistic way of looking at it I know. What it really comes down to is a metamorphosis in progress. Like a caterpillar to the butterfly we all find so many changes in our lives during the course of the whole experience. When a caterpillar starts to create its cocoon it doesn’t have no recall of what it is he was and the process begins.

We start out in a fragile state, being held, changed, cleansed, taught and cherished. As we start to grow towards our goal in life, death, we tend to put that way in the back, the black holes of our mind. So we experience all there is and then some or we at least try. We brake free from the nests we once called home to make a home of our own. We are fruitful and multiply as life commands we all should do to keep mankind going strong. As the people that once nurtured our needs in the past, our loved ones die, or head to parts unknown, we move on realizing that those footsteps that once were, are now duplicated, recreated in our own journey through life’s path as we know it to be. We get closer to the goal showing our age watching our children, nurturing them, cleansing them, watching out for them and hoping the best for them which was done for us years before.

Something happens in this whole process of life. Once we have done the most important job there is, seeing that the children are well on their way, we seem to get forgotten. Many think of the aging elderly as feeble and they are placed on shelves until needed which is seldom. We, in our aged wisdom, start growing weaker, our mind slips a little and this is ok, it is a part of it all, the bigger picture. When you add the mishaps, the forgetfulness, and the loneness, we start to feel shame. We are a shell of once who we are and feel unwanted and unneeded. Are failings is so humiliating for us. We don’t want to be seen in this state. We were once heroes but now to be seen as a broken shadow of our selves is the worse feeling for us for we are treated as children again.

Why is it in many other parts of the world, they treat the aged as queens and kings? These are the wise, the accomplished and we can learn so much from them. This answer is simple; we just don’t wish to see what we are heading for, out of sight out of mind.

As one nears the metamorphosis stage of life, or as we know it to be, death, we become afraid. We become afraid of the unknown and don’t wish to have any part in that but it is inevitable. We are now in a fragile state, being held, changed, cleansed, taught and cherished. What was once a start is now the finish, we become just as we once were.

We close our eyes; gasp out last breath and head on to a new life which is the plan. Our loved ones shed a tear for our passing but that is not what we want, no, not at all. We would love for all to be happy for we are in a better place. No, they cry for themselves because deep inside themselves they know, they themselves were born to die, a metamorphosis in progress.

The God Faddah Saga (End of Godfaddah)

In this day and age, it is very hard to be the Godfather. With gas prices as high as they are, and the everyday cost of living, he calls a special meeting of the council. The boys arrive one by one and sit at the big round table in the back room.

The godfather walks in and everyone stands as if he is a lady but lets get one thing straight, he is no lady. He is all man, especially when he kisses all his Goomba’s on the mouth. Real men do this for some reason. The room grows quiet, and the Godfather speaks after placing the cotton in his cheeks. “Ok, you know with the high prices of gas, and bullets, we need to cut back, big time. Money is growing scarce and we really need to rethink the whole drive by thingy. I suggest one drive by a week. I mean it aint easy hijacking gasoline trucks these days, since Guido got the big idea to use lighters instead of flashlights to see how much gas was in those trucks, may he rest in peaces. I mean, I can’t even afford the prescription for this itch under my chin any more and calamine is not cutting it anymore. Bullets, have you seen the price of bullets? From now on, when you need to whack someone, do a two fer, one bullet, two guys and when you bury them three to a shallow grave. Last but not least, the pay offs. We can no longer afford to pay off the cops, so just be more careful and be sure not to get pinched. Oh yeah, besides the cops, we no longer pay off, the political officials, the laundry, yes Joey, what is it?” Godfather listens to Joey’s question. “No not the money launderer, the laundry, double up loads from now on and use the cheap detergent. Ok, so no more paying off the cops, the politicians, the laundry, the movie channel for showing my trilogy every freaking weekend, and oh yeah, no more iced cream man. He won’t be coming around. Why? I shot the guy, he was charging me double, he said the gas was making him do it. Well I was getting gas from eating his product. Next order of business is all this gossip. I heard that Pauli was becoming worried for his life. I know I kissed him on the lips the other day, but guys, the kiss on the lips thing doesn’t always have to mean the kiss of death does it? Not at all, I never wanted the man dead; I just wanted to get to know him better. One more thing, Henry, the race track, we bet on Trophies dream every week and he made us a lot of money. He always won when ever he races.” BANG, BANG!!! The Godfather points his finger at Henry and shoots him. That will teach you. When I say put a horses head in the guys bed, I don’t want you to kill the horse that is making us fifty grand a week. Next time just put the whole damn horse in the guy’s bed. We must cut back starting now. The government won’t give us any more food stamps and besides, those damn things taste like cardboard and I am so tired of eating cheese. Geese, meeting over. Someone hit the cassette recorder on the way out, man I love my theme.”

The Godfather walks out of the room. The boys discuss how they can cut back even more. Needles wants to sell the company Limo and start using a cab. Finga’s wants everyone to dig up the remains of Hoffa and sell them on ebay. Jakito Dumas suggests that the boys should put the ad in the paper for Crime victims to come to them so they would not have to travel so often. Jimmy suggests that they all share one Goomada, one lady between them then Pauli reminds him that they are already doing that one.

The godfather returns to his home and packs a bag. He includes a change of clothes, three hundred thousand dollars in cash and a tooth brush. He heads for the docks; he rents a small boat and starts the engine. He opens the case. He smiles at the cash, Ben seems to be smiling back. He heads out about fifteen hundred miles and cuts the engine. He calls the boys on his cell phone. He tells them that he must go out of town for a while and that Sal Manila will be the boss until his return. He tosses the cell phone overboard and hoists the sails. He sits in his captain’s chair and puts his feet up on the console. He looks at the stars, then the darkness of the water. He licks his finger and holds it up. The wind suggests, south. He turns the wheel and sails into the mist until he disappears. Vito Goomba was never heard from again. As for the boys, they were doing ok, sitting, watching cable, playing cards, and working out, waiting, waiting, and more waiting. “Hey boys, I told you, but noooooo, you never believe anything I say.” Needles said as he calls a flush. You see boys, prison isn’t all that bad now is it.” he added.

The Night Before Christmas~Italian Style

Was the night before Christmas and all through my head
The kids were driving me nuts, I wish they were dead.
Running like a chicken with his head cut off
I had more shopping to do even with this cough

Little Tommy and Gina and Carol were screaming
My wife was nagging as I was day dreaming,
of summer at the beach all by myself.
Too bad their were no bullets for that gun on my shelf

I made sure the kids were all tucked in their beds
I used a big rock I struck on their heads.
Now I decided to take a short pause
As I waited for good ole Santa Clause

I wanted to tell him my kids were bad souls
I would even help the guy shovel the coal
I had scotch then three and even four
Just then I heard a knock at my door.
I open it up and what did I see
It was good old ST. Nick waiting for me.

He demanded his twenty for that was his price
Because my kids were the worst, yep they weren’t so nice.
My wife walked into the room to make herself a drink
Old St Nick gave her a wink

The stockings on the mantel were filled with the black
Coal for everyone filled all those sacks.
When he was finished he gave my wife a rose
As he placed his thumb on the side of his nose.

Up and away as he made such a clatter
That’s when I asked him what was the matter?
He just looked at my fireplace a fake that it was
So he took to the door without making a fuss

As he passed my wife he a feel he did steal
I yelled out “Hey bub that’s not a part of our deal.”
Just then an elf came walking over to me
He punched me in the stomach then kicked my knee.

As he left he yelled something out
On dasher on dancer, what was that all about?
His slay was flying high to some other children’s house
And some other wife perhaps he will get up her blouse.

I grabbed my old rifle and fired one, two, and three.
I missed him of course and he was angry.
He looked down and threw some presents at me
He threw so many that I couldn’t see.

Now it was morning and boy was it cold.
The kids were so happy and being so bold
They just knew all the presents were theirs,
as I rolled my eyes and headed up the stairs.

I thought for a moment and decided then and there.
Kids will be kids no matter how much they swear.
My wife and I smiled for the first in a while
As we kissed under the covers as I made her smile

The kids pounded on our door to show us all they got
I told them to go, get out of here you snots.
I looked at my wife and she looked at me
We let them inside for their gifts we did see

A television for Tommy and for Gina a CD
For Carol it was a camera even a toaster for me
It wasn’t a bad Christmas, I finally did see
Merry Christmas to all especially for my wife and my kids all three.

So I looked to the moon as bright as a beacon
No more need for me to be freakin
And as I watched I saw such a sight
It was old St. Nick, passing through the night

I thought and thought, how can I make this better
As I walked back into the house, I was soaked from sock to sweater
I looked at the kids and my wife fighting so
I would not change a thing we are family, you know?

I would not do a thing to make this right
It all ready is so to all a good night.

Lifetime of Abuse

Abuse comes in many forms, but the three major types are verbal, physical, and mental. The following story is true, and believe me, I am not asking for pity or understanding, but what I am asking for is your attention. I need to know that you are aware. People tease and holler in the name of love, but is it? When no one listens for or hears the cries, this is the worst kind of abuse there is.

When I sat with my mother, before she passed away, I told her I could remember as far back as the age of infancy, I am talking about months old. I know the mind can play tricks thirty or forty years down the road, but the things I told her I remembered she remembered. The thing is, I never cried abuse, just told her about the good times I remember. I remembered when I was just about three months old, I told my mother that my father tried to hold me but I started crying because his hands felt like they were covered with splinters. He handed me back as soon as he picked me up. She remembered that. I reminded her of the time I was three, my father heard me crying for some reason, probably because all the lights were off in my room and I was afraid. I reminded her about my teddy bear; I loved that bear like a close friend. He walked into my room with the belt, and struck me exactly five times and when I wouldn’t stop crying, he grabbed the bear out of my hands and tore it to shreds. I reminded her that I couldn’t stop crying and couldn’t catch my breath almost causing me to pass out. She remembered that and laughed. It may have been the way I told a story that made her laugh, or it could have been a nervous laugh, you know, when someone feels uncomfortable about something that happened in the past. I also remembered her sitting me on her lap when the news about Louis Costello, the comedian’s death came on in a special report on the television. I also can remember drinking beer from a baby bottle as did one of my sisters, guess that was funny back in the day.

I guess, I was like so many others back in those days. It was never abuse, but the ways, of the times. My mother abused me in her own way. She tried so hard to please others but disregarded the family’s feelings.

I was still only three years old and I had a birthday party in the yard. Where I lived, one yard was for two homes. We shared a driveway and once you drove up there was a garage on either side, a community backyard. I was allowed one friend, the kid next door, Nicky who was three also. When Nicky picked up a one inch thick piece of pine, about two by two, and raised it over his head and came down with full force, and struck my head, I actually saw stars. A huge bump rose on my head and I cried. My mother apologized to the neighbors for my behavior. Yeah, I am whining but when no one listens things like this can’t stay bottled up or illness can accrue later on in life.

My memory is not the only thing that is acute. I see things, warnings, and when I get that gut feeling about these feelings they happen. Between the ages of three and five, my father who was a heavy drinker, no, a drunk, would feel the need to hit me with the belt every night while my mother would sit alone in the kitchen mad at him for drinking again. He was never stopped but to me it was a way of life. My brother who was seven years older then I was, as a joke, took a handful of glass and put it in my drink. I almost swallowed it but managed to choke it all out after about three minutes. That was funny, how the family played jokes on me throughout my lifetime. Little did I know, later on in life I would know that it was all done because of hatred? I know what some people may say, “Oh, maybe you just feel this way because memories can play tricks and thinking about it after all of these years can build up bitterness.” No, I know it now, because my brother told me five years ago that when I was born I ruined things for the family.

I remember my pet Timmy, he was a parakete and was whistling one day, happy as can be. My good old daddy, decided the bird was sick so he dunked his head in vinigar. The bird died and he said, “I told you it was sick.” As you may have guessed, he was drunk again. He would be drinking a whole gallon of red table wine every night, after he came home from the bar.

Ok, still age seven I was told I would be going to a two week camp. I was sent there because I was a problem child. I was seven, was walked to school, back home and watched television tall the rest of the day. I protested about the camp thing, but they shipped me off anyway. Before I left, I told my mother, I felt as if something bad would happen there. She laughed and said, “Oh, you and your premonitions.” When I returned, I never said anything to them about what had happened at camp because they would have blamed me for my troubles.

Two week in camp a mere two weeks, maybe it would be fun after all. The boys were told that we were going swimming and if we weren’t changed into our bathing suits in thirty seconds we would get the belt. I was beaten with a three inch piece of canvas on my back because I had trouble tying the string on my suit. I was beaten everyday and sometimes at night for doing nothing but what I was told to do, because they could. I always did as told no matter where and when I was. I went back to school; I was now in the third grade. We had a dog we called Shadow. Shadow was really the only friend I had. I would walk him all the time and even taught him tricks. One day when I was walking home from school, my friend ran over to me and told me my dog was hit by a car. Shadow was a leash dog. He wasn’t trained to go out by himself but as my mother explained to me, she didn’t feel like walking him so she let him out the door. Ok, I know I cry a lot in these stories so as you might have figured, I cried when I found out my dog was dead, and as you may have guessed, I got a beating for that.

I lived like this until I was ten, when I was ten; my brother hit me in the head with a rock. I needed five stitches and my mother told the doctor not to give me anesthetic because it cost too much. Right after this happened, my mother helped my brother buy a car and send my sister to a Broadway show with friends of the family.

This was about the time when my mother and father were fighting every night. They would call me into the room and play, didn’t he do that,and didn’t she say that. They would put me in the middle all the time and one would try and pin me against the other but I would never choose and for that I received a beating. My mother would sit in the kitchen after the feirce battle. My father would call me into the room and ask me for things. He would ask me to get two long sharp knives from the kitchen. He would ask for the big marconi pot and a towel. He would order me to sit in front of him. He then would place the towel on the floor, put the pot on top of it and place one of his feet on the pot. He then would take a knife and tell me he was going to cut his foot off. I would start to cry because what kid at that young age would need to see that. He would place the knife on his leg and then stop. He would repete this three or four times then have me put the things away.

I got used to my father being drunk but never got used to having all the kids in the neighborhood laugh at me calling my father the town drunk, that hurt and as you can see. I still remember it.

I also remember my dad being in his boxers all the time when he was home, which is not that bad, but when the PTA had a meeting, he never put his pants on and that was his way of saying, “This is my house and if I want to be in my shorts, I will.”

We had a new landlord who made his own wine. My father would head for the basement every chance he got to drink up the mans vintage. I guess if I had to guess, he was drunk 98 percent of his life.

My mother and father manage to buy a home; we were renting all our lives. Homes back then ran about sixteen thousand for a three story, imagine that? My brother got a room, my sister got the whole first floor, and I had to live in the unfinished attic, bats and all. My brother had the fuse box in his room and would cut off the power to my attic just because he felt like it. I was working part time and would give my mother all I had each week to help out because my father lost his job again due to his drinking. I was told money was tight. If my mother brought home a pound of cheese, I was told one slice per sandwich. My brother and sister could eat all they want sticking their tongue at me or making a face because they thought they won.

I started writing and would ask my mother to read something but she didn’t have the time. I started performing in shows on television as well as live but no one in my family ever wanted to go even if I sent a limo and had tickets waiting for them. Till this day, no one in my family ever read one out of the twelve books I have had published. To think how many strangers find my work interesting, it really hurts when your own so called flesh and blood aren’t interested. Jealousy, perhaps, and I guess in their minds, they won their battle.

So, one of my relitives gifted me two chicks for Easter. I kept the foul in my basement and considered them pets. I had them for about three months before I was forced to sit at the kitchen table and watch my father take cooking tongs and hold each bird one at a time and place their heads in boiling water. He then plucked these chicks and cooked them. He then searved them for dinner along with the regular dinner and would beat me later with a belt for refusing to have any part in his demented feast.

Now I am fifteen and life goes on as usual, well except for my Grandmother. My Grandma lived in Florida and had passed away. My mother rented a car big enough to carry, my two sisters, my brother, my brother-in-law, and my younger sisters boyfriend. I was told there was not enough room in the car so I would have to fend for myself. No money, I lived on bread, a box of macaroni, and some rice for the next ten days. When they returned, they told me they got everything, and she didn’t leave me anything. I told them I was very sad she passed but her memory was all I needed.

My father was drunk all of my lifetime. He would stagger in when we had friends over and embarrass us. He would sleep on the kitchen floor, he would bring women home when my mother went out for the night, he would fist fight me because he felt like it at the time.

I was going to throw a graduation party for my oldest son. I called the family and asked them which day was good for them. They picked the day, foolish me, will I never learn the lessons they were throwing at me? I went and bought a six foot sub, all the trimmings, for I was so proud of my son. One hour before the party they called and told me they wouldn’t be able to make it. Let me see, that was in 1995, no one in my family ever sent my son, their nephew, my mothers grandson one birthday card. To abuse me all these so many years is one thing but to disown my son was just a blatant attempt to get at me also. Their loss, he is a wonderful man now.

To say that my sibling’s souls are blackened by greed is an understatement. My sisters father-in-law, offered her and her husband forty thousand dollars to put an addition on their home. My sister said, “He could have given us more. This wasn’t a loan, this was a gift. I was flabbergasted when I heard that come out of her mouth. This was the first sign that she was just greedy evil.

I found out that my father was dying. I lived in Florida at the time with my wife and kids. I picked everything up and moved in my father’s house. He was eighty four and my mother was eighty. I lived in a six by twelve room with a pull out sofa that took up the whole room, a television, two dogs, my wife and my youngest son. My wife wiped my dads but, I cooked for them as well as did the shopping for them. I shoveled the snow, mowed the lawn, and did all that any good son would. This would last a year before my father passed away.

My father was on many medications. He was frail but suffering from Alzheimer’s disease. My brother and sister lived around the corner and hated the fact that we were there. My son was beaten up many times by his older cousin. My son was ten, his cousin was twenty five. My sister would have a party in her back yard every week and would go out of her way to tell us we weren’t invited. My brother asked me why I was even there. I told him I was there for my father. On the day of his passing, my father was sitting up in a recliner. He was aware and happy that we were around him. He had quit drinking ten years before this. He told me everyday that he loved me and I know it was his way of saying he was sorry. We made our peace. My brother comes into the house and hands my father a tall tumbler filled with red table wine. I told him that was not a great idea with all the meds he was on. My father drank it and he was handed another. He collapsed into a coma. My mother didn’t know what to do. I told her to call 911. She was told by my brother and sister not to. She had the good sense to call the doctor, and he told her to call 911. My brother wouldn’t let her. I told him that was against the law. He told me to shut up that it would gum up the works. My father was awake but didn’t know where he was. The priest was called to read him his last rights as I pleaded for someone to call and every time I tried to pick up the phone my brother would yank it out of my hands. The priest arrives and my brother runs into the room where my dad was and slammed the door in the priest and my face. He was actually yelling at my father for at least ten minutes. The door opens and my brother asked my father if he wanted to go to the hospital. He shakes his head no, duress, could be.

My father passed away. I called it murder, but no one listened. I packed up and left the very next day. I was only there for my father and since he passed away, there was no more need to be there.

I moved to South Carolina. Three years later I got a call that my mother was very ill and wouldn’t last a week. I was also told not to come to the funeral, I was not welcome. I called my mother about twenty times over the three years since my father’s death. I called her that week a few times also. We had a good talk and all was good. I got another call three days before the week was up telling me that she passed. I didn’t go to her funeral because I was told that my Brother and Sister would call the cops and have me arrested. One month later I get a call from my mothers lawyer. He told me that she had a will and I was in it. I told him I didn’t really care about her money. He sent me a copy of the will. “To my youngest daughter and my son, I leave nothing.” These were not the words of my mother, but a forged change to her original will. My brother and sister got everything, imagine that. I wonder if they murdered her also for selfish gain.

There you have it, whining, maybe, but to be hated that much, for no reason. I do understand the pressures that people go through. My dad just could deal with the pressure being a World War 11 veteran and his drinking was just an extension of that time. My mother was just a coward, but I forgive her that was just who she was, being all the problems she had with dad. As for my brother and sister, they are just so self centered, selfish, and that is just unforgivable. I stayed with them till the end, my job was done, I left.

Something else I forgot to tell you about me. My will is a strong one. If I do the right thing, and most of the time I do, I am not a perfect person here. If I do the best I can, and get disrespected, my karma is stronger then average. I was working for a manufacturing plant here in South Carolina. I worked there for a year and a few months. I did my job well, and then some. If I had nothing to do I always helped someone else or found something to do. I was told they needed to let me go. They kept some lazy people and got rid of me which I didn’t understand. A few months later they slowed down then folded. I never wish anything like that on anyone, things happen for a reason.

My brother is a heavy gambler now, probably always have been. He is divorced now also. My sister is an alcoholic big time. I am not saying it is karma, it could be guilt. I haven’t spoken to those people in six years and really don’t miss them at all.

If you read this story, all I want from you is to be aware. There is no need to yell at your spouse, or children not to mention hit them. Talk to them, a little understanding goes a long way. When greed overshadows everything that is good in life, it eats away at ones soul and soon you become pure evil.

There are two sides to every story and as it stands, if asked, I am sure they would tell you, I was nuts, and nothing like that ever happened. This is what they do, people like this. Sometimes understanding doesn’t help and you need to turn your back. The abused can’t see it until it is too late. The abusers could care less.

I don’t want any sympathy. I have been married for over thirty one years to a good woman, have three wonderful children in my life, and leaving the past in the past as well it should be. I have twelve published books with two on the way. The way I look at it, if one person liked what I have written, I have it all my friends. By the way, I don’t drink, I never beat my wife or children, and always thought things out or at least tried my best. As for karma, time will tell. In the words of one of my idols, Louis Costello, “Time wounds all heals.”

That Tree Grew in Brooklyn

The other day, I was strolling through Brooklyn, well; actually I was jogging, very fast, ok, being chased down by a few thugs. It was my entire fault, I saw them playing on the tree that grows in Brooklyn. You kjnow that one tree they have? They were climbing on it and I knew the precious branch’s were going to brake if I didn’t do something right away. I walked over to them and explained that the tree they were climbing on was one of the last trees growing within several miles, I was being kind, after all it was New York. They decided I was right. They then decided to climb on me instead. I shook them off and started to walk away. They followed me. I walked a little faster, and they walked a little faster. Soon we were going what looked like a thousand miles an hour, but with the traffic at a stand still who knows, maybe it was more like 5 miles an hour. I managed to ditch them being an old city boy myself and ran into the subway. I jumped on the train seconds before the door closed and I was now safe from those six year olds. I look up and saw another angry mob walking towards me, surrounding me. “Oh no,” I thought, “What was I going to do now?” I added as my knees started to shake. Closer, then closer yet they came towards me. This is a tough place. Never let anyone else tell you any different. Those folks, although heading back to the old aged home just wanted to see what a person half their age looked like close up.