If you don't read the newspaper, you are uninformed; if you do read the newspaper, you are misinformed.

Chapter 2: The Masonic Lodge is the Devil’s Clubhouse

    When I was about 9 years old and living the carefree life that 9 year olds were permitted to live in the 60’s, a boy judged his status in life by who he hung around with. If you were a normal kid, you hung around with guys who were your own age and in the same grade as you were. You could distinguish yourself as a “mover and a shaker”, a mini “man about town”, if you could pal around with the “older kids”. If you were a 9 year old boy and a 12 year old even knew your name, you were “the man”.

    There was a boy who lived a few doors up from me named Mark. He was several years older than I was and I was fortunate enough one summer, to consistently be in his presence. Mark had 2 passions. The first was his little green plastic Army men of which he had a standing force of about 900,000. We would spend hours setting them up on the sandbox battlefield. I learned terms like Bivouac, reconnaissance, special ops, and other terms that I think he just made up. But the real love of Mark’s life and the envy of every kid in the neighborhood was “The Cabin”. Mark had built a two story wooden tree house in a huge tree that was right at the edge of his yard. It was amazing. You had to climb up a rope ladder and give the secret knock. Then Marrk would open the trap door from inside , and you could climb in. He had a table and chairs, bunk beds, and a BB gun. When Mark allowed me to join his secret club, and gave me access to the “inner sanctum”, it made me feel like I was better than every kid in the neighborhood.

But alas, you don’t stay 9 years old forever.

            As summers came and summers went, the cabin and my interest in it faded away, and I realized that my worth did not come from belonging to some secret club, or having access to a special place. In other words, I got on with my life.Unbelievably there are grown men (physically speaking) still pretending that they are 9 years old. They have their secret club and special meeting place that no one is allowed to enter if they're not a member. They even have a secret handshake! They wear stupid hats and special aprons!!  I kid you not.  They are “The Masons”.

    It would be funny if it was not so deadly serious. Free Masonry is a demonic perversion of Christianity and to Jesus Christ. The name and nature of the Masonic deity is an offense to the one true God. It is taught in the Royal Arch degree that Masonry draws its teachings and powers from three great teachers and gods. The combined deity is represented as a three-headed god, whose name is JoaBulOn, which stands for Jehovah, Baal, and Osiris. Every time Masons pronounce that name in the Masonic prayer of worship, they have defiled the Holy name of God.  Hard to believe isn’t it?

Chapter 3: Evolution    

    A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…. Once upon a time…..There once was a handsome Prince….. Billions of years ago….

              All of the above are great opening lines for fairy tales. But a true story full of historical facts will NEVER start with the above opening lines. I knew that when I was a 5 year old kindergartner at Bethel Lutheran church in Lower Burrell. In the afternoon after cookies and milk, we would all get out our rugs out of the closet and lay on the floor. Our babysitter, I mean teacher, Miss Tomooti would read us a wonderful and fanciful fairy tale. I can remember how my imagination would soar as I pictured the story playing out in my head. Never once did it occur to me that these tales were not true. Hey, if Miss Tomooti, the fountain of knowledge from which all things educational flowed, said there was a handsome prince or an ogre or a billy goat gruff, then by gosh there was! I never asked for proof or evidence of what she was saying. I was naive, yes, but I was only five years old. 
            As I grew and began to think and reason for myself, these stories went from being real and true, to being simple amusement. (Amuse-To occupy in an agreeable, pleasing, or entertaining fashion. To cause to laugh or smile by giving pleasure: Archaic: To delude or deceive.) Simply put, to muse means to think and the prefix “A” means “Not”. There’s nothing wrong with amusement, as long as an individual realizes that the subject manner is not meant to convey reality. (Any WWE fans out there? Hello!) 
    Nowadays children are still learning fairy tales in school, except now they teach them in Science and Biology class in all 12 grades and beyond. What formerly provided a rational thinking person with a source of amusement is now presented as documented, provable truth. They call it Evolution and the author is not someone named Aesop or Grimm, his name is Charles Darwin. I can’t tell you how many times I have busted out laughing when reading some of the ridiculous, unproven, evolutionary conjecture from scientists who should know better. (and I think that deep down, they do.)
            I can remember my 10^th grade Earth and Science class at Burrell High School in 1971. My teacher “Mr. K” was one of the “cool guys” with Brillo pad hair and Bell bottom pants, he was the epitome of cool. One sweltering summer day he was telling us a “Fairy Tale” about cavemen while we gazed at “pictures” in our textbook of an entire cave family walking along on a bright sunny Neanderthal day. I had been raised as a good Catholic boy who attended Catechism any Saturday on which I had nothing better to do.  I instantly spotted a discrepancy here. I learned from Sister Mary Elizabeth that Genesis 2:7 says, "And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul." As far as I knew, it didn’t say that man was created out of some lower form of life (ape, chimpanzee, or hominid). He was made, or fashioned, by the very hand of God out of inanimate dust, dirt, or clay. Life in man's body came directly from God's spirit, or "breath." When God gave life to man, he became a "living soul."  I raised my hand to give Mr. K a chance to explain this glaring boil on the face of academic integrity. If anybody could extricate my young mind from the jaws of discordance it was “cool” Mr. K. He called on me and I asked him,” Who came first the cavemen or Adam and Eve”? By the look on Mr. K’s face you would have thought that I had just asked him what the square root of 666 was. He mumbled and stuttered something unintelligible as tiny beads of primordial ooze began running down the side of his face. I caught a few random words in his rejoinder, several of which were vaguely pertinent to my question. I thought I heard a word like “hominid” which I later thought might have been part of his homina, homina, opening stutter. One phrase was clearly recognizable as “Evolutionists think” which I later realized was totally false. After he said, “Does that answer your question”? I told him that his tie was nice. It was at that point that I first realized that either evolution is a bunch of mumbo jumbo, or Mr. K had very little power of instant recall. Either one of those options was very difficult for me to believe.

Chapter 6: The Moon Landing    

    I was 13 years old when the first American, the first human being set foot on the moon. I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a sweltering July night in Pennsylvania, and I was swimming in our backyard pool with my cousin Bobby. We had a beautiful built in pool in our backyard at a time when even above ground pools were rare. Our relationships with friends and family always seemed to be much better in the summertime for some reason. The hype had been tremendous in the weeks and then days leading up to this historic event. People everywhere talked about the “moon shot”. What would they find? Would the ship sink beneath the lunar landscape upon touchdown? What if they can’t get back to Earth? I remember one of the bigger kids in our neighborhood saying that he heard that the astronauts had Cyanide pills with them that they could take to make them die instantly if they were faced with being hopelessly stranded, 250,000 miles from home. 
            I was torn between swimming and having a great time with Bobby or watching a grainy black and white image of a man walking on the moon. The moon!! Being the resourceful young man that I was, I solved the dilemma. We had a one story addition on the back of our house that had a long window across the back that faced the pool. I pulled back the curtains and opened the window, giving me a clear view of the television. I would run back and forth from the pool to the window waiting for the big moment. At 6:30 PM on July 3, 1969 I watched history being made like it had never been before or since. As I watched Neil Armstrong descend the ladder I instinctively turned and looked up in the sky and saw the moon. The real moon! It seemed like a fantasy that men had landed there. It was indeed hard to believe.