I will be a good boy, I promise
December 12th 2007 05:25
Morgan grew up in a middle class home life, just out side of Goulburn, in N.S.W. back in nineteen fifty, with both his mother and father, and sister and brother: His mother was a very strict woman most of the time, even though she had her moments of happiness and friendliness and fairness. While his father always appeared to be the quiet and friendly achiever type. And he made friends easily enough at times, as did his brother and sister. Some how or other he never quite got the hang of being friends with every one all of the time. In fact, over the period of his life he would lose more friends than he ever made, till that night in June of ninety two, but that comes later on.
Morgan grew up to be of medium height round about five foot seven inches tall, and well built though rather stocky. He had blond hair and blue eyes and a sweet smile, with a very baby face. Which he used to get teased about by his friends from time to time. He was bright and intelligent and appeared to be a good boy most of the time, but like so many others he had a peculiar way of getting into trouble when every one least expected it. He parents were really anxious over his ways, and sent him to the local psychologist many times over rather than seeing him in a boy’s home for his delinquent ways.
Every one liked him, but soon enough his ways became the talk of the town, and though it was hushed up, most of the time, though a word escaped through some adults lips as he passed by them (psst, there’s that ………child….his poor parents, and family), from time to time. And he had no idea why they would say that of him….and it was as if, he had no knowledge of right and wrong, good and evil, moral and immoral abilities, nor discernment and comprehension.
Yet how sad it was for him no one knew. For he knew he had done a wrong thing, and had caused some one an injury of some kind, because each time his parents got angry with him, he knew he had done some thing wrong…he just could not figure out what wrong he had done. Though he accepted his punishment each time his mother or father metered it out to him; which became either a hand across the face, or the strap, or a stick across his bum, he could not quite grasp the significance of his wrong, nor to whom. Though his parents warned him never to go near, this boy or that girl ever again. Which he never did. He really disliked getting belted or the cane or a smack across the face, especially from his mother. And each time, he always promised he would be a good boy, every time, and every time his parents knew that he meant it, and were happy with his commitment and how well he succeeded to be just that, a good boy.
Yet no one knew how scared of life and of every thing around him, he really was. Nor did any one know he was always off with the fairies in wonderland most of the time. For that was where he lived and felt the happiest and safest. He seemed to have an above average I.Q. and athletic abilities, and every one knew how well he excelled in all types of sports and swimming, and cross country running. But he had that peculiar way about him, which got him into trouble one way or another many times over, till he joined the Army in 67 and had to go off to war.
When he came back from the war, every one thought that it was the war that had turned him into a complete liar and a cheat and a criminal, and a very hated man by his fellow soldiers, including his new wife of just three years before he was discharged four years later. He was so fierce at times, that people took one look at him and walked quickly away, as fast as they could and as far away as they could get. Yet no one knew of his anxiety over the dismal way his life seemed to always turn around and become. Nor, did they know how much he hated himself and religion.
He seemed to be so happy go lucky most of the time and be able to put those bad times way behind him, and then that peculiar way of his would get him into more trouble; and every time he would regret his bad behaviour and say with all honesty, I’ll be a good boy, I promise I will. And the cycle would start all over again. To every ones dismay. But the time came when he was locked up several times in a row, for his sinful and bad ways, and by this time in the mid seventies a new thing called the “Electric shock treatment” had come into high fashion, to help those who appeared to be of a serious pathological mental deterioration type (incorrigible) as well as more and more social workers and group discussion times and more visits to the mental ward, and with a new type of doctor called Psychiatrists.
Yet as effective as these times seemed to be for him Morgan could not be shaken free from his incorrigible ways effectively enough to help in straightening himself out. And every one was giving up on him more and more often. No one had to tell him he was a hopeless and helpless case, for deep inside of himself he already knew that. He had even tried suicide several times, and he hoped this last time would really do the job for him; but no, it did not, and he knew then that even death did not want him; for him, he knew that his case was that no one seemed to be able to help him.
Then, over the next fifteen years of his adult life, he was given many courses on experimental drugs and diagnosed with various mental conditions which to him were a lot of dumb talk and of no help at all. For even he could diagnose himself “his was a helpless and hopeless case,” which no one could help him with. There was no use telling him, it was all centered in his mind, hell, he knew that much. What he could not understand, was why he was that way? And no one could give him an answer to that question. And with all of the tests and experimental drugs and electric shock treatments and prison time and around and around he went, no one he knew could help free him from the grip of his mental come moral dysfunctional dilemmas.
And all he ever wanted was to be a good boy, and be loved by his parents and most people around him, for even he knew that not every one is going to like him and he is not going to like every one all of the time either. And to love his now ex wife and children: For he knew he had to stay away from them, because even he did not trust himself in peoples company any more (neither did the police and the courts). In fact he was more at peace with himself in prison than any where else. He even worked it out, that, if he could not manage his life out side of prison and that death did not want him, and that he would not be able to stand up on his own two feet out side of prison, where he had to daily strive to succeed to be a good boy, then it was at least easier to do so in prison where he had little or no decision making to do, and no real effort to do other than follow the orders of the screws come prison guards. To him, that was the easiest and safest way of being a good boy that he knew he could manage on a daily basis.
The time came around once more, when he had stuffed up one more time and he was in prison one more time. And this time, he just wanted out of the pain and misery and shame and guilt and worry over trying one more time. He knew he had no more strength, nor stamina, nor fitness, nor endurance, nor will to try one more time, for one more day. No, not even in prison, he just wanted out of it all - To disappear like a mist of air, just gone. That night, he gave up the ghost in his cell. That night as his body hit the bed, it was for one last time, and he was dead before he had landed on his bed. He had literally given up the ghost, and died, and breathed his last breath.
The next morning was the miracle revealed: he woke up: then slowly he became aware that some how some thing mysterious had happened to him; and he did not know what it was. He only knew he felt different, as if some thing had been taken out of him. But the memory of what or how, failed to come to his attention nor thinking, at that time. He felt happy some how, and clean some how, and light some how. But of the how, he never even thought of at all.
And as he pinched himself, he thought ouch, that hurt, so may be he is not dreaming it all up. Then the next miracle happened when he was the first one out of the block and into the yard, into the hot morning Sun. And as he had moved just two steps into the sunlight of the day, his feet were melded into the yard ground, and then from on high he felt a wonderful refreshing living liquid presence being poured into him, like water into a jug from the tap, only this came from heaven. When he felt as if he was full up, with this refreshing liquid from on high, his feet became un-melded from the yard ground and he could walk once more, and he walked over to his spot half way down on the left in the shade of the wall, and sat down on his haunches.
He had no idea of what had happened to him. Nor any thing else for a week. He seemed to be in a different kind of daze for that week. No one could get any kind of sense out of him. He kept saying to the other cons, that God had put him here to get sorted out, or God put me in here because I could not fit in out there, or now I am in the right place at the right time, and am going to get all of the answers to all of my life’s problems, and so on, till every one thought he was going nuts. His previous times in prison had always been for four months, but this time he thought he had been given a lifer sentence. He was after all, now sixty. What else could they do to him, except put him away for life? And he was happy with that assessment, of his current situation. Yet he had one screw which had been a friend to him from time to time, on the out side, and he came to him in the yard a week later saying “what on earth are you in for? A bloke like you does not belong in a place like this.” He said to him, I don’t know, and I guess I do, because here I am, and I think I got life this time, which is alright with me, so don’t worry none about me, I’ll be alright, from now on.
His friend said “I will come and let you know what you got and why in a few days time, but I cannot show favouritism to you much.” When he came back, His friend said “I just don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it – its not you at all. Oh, you got just four months and not the life sentence you thought you had.” And Morgan said, “Thanks mate, I’ll be alright in here from now on. Don’t worry.”
Well that was the turning point for Morgan, but no one really knew of it, till a few years later. No one knew that when it was getting closer to the time to finish his four months and be released, he was so frightened to come out, that he had planned which screws to kill and when and how, just so as he could spend the remaining time of his life in prison where he knew he could cope and feel the safest. But then that miracle kicked in and helped him to see that he will be able to do time on the out side from now on and need never be back inside from that moment on. He asked one of his new friends that would come and visit the prisoners from time to time, to meet him on the day and morning of his release to help him and guide him on how to live on the out side from now on.
Some how he knew that he would be able to live up to his former promises of wanting to be a good boy from now on. His new friend helped him for several days and he went back to Sydney to meet his wife hoping that she would want him back, but it never worked out that way. She never wanted to see him ever again and to keep away from their children as well, forever, and so he ha to start life all over again. And with the help of another friend in Sydney that his new friend in Victoria had introduced him to, he began the long hard struggle of over seven years, to learn how to stand on his own two feet one more time. It was about the third year mark, that he was manoeuvred by his inner friend, that he was led to the Church and a Presbyterian Church at that. He called up the minister there, and in a few days the minister came to visit him at his place, and they had a long hard chat, and the Minister said to him “your going to be alright from now Morgan, don’t worry, your going to be alright from now on, thanks be to God, who has worked this miracle in you from back then.” And bit by bit Morgan began to visit the Presbyterian Church ever since.
And today even though it was a long hard struggle for the next seven years, Morgan learned how to be a good Man, and no longer just a good boy. Today Morgan helps others in the church, with their problems with wanting to be a good boy, by first asking them, would you rather learn how to be a good man first? This always brings a smile to most of the men and women he works with, in the church.
And yet, no one really knows of his old dead life except maybe his minister (and occasionally those with whom he has had the most success with). Yet it always turns out that some one who is struggling to be a good boy or girl is left in his care in which to help them too, hopefully over this part of their disturbed lives. So that they can miss out on those twenty to thirty or more years of bitter morose and hopelessness and helplessness.
Morgan has helped a lot of people in this way over the years and he has had many a long day and longer night in their presence, in their homes and them in his, and he loves it. He finally got a job as a baker and loves it too. And his parents have mellowed in their later years, towards him to others. Which he loves that part about them as well. His brothers and sisters struggle with their lives, and with their marriages too, but he just prays for them every day too. He hopes that both his parents and his brother and sister will be wanting God’s divine intervention in their lives sooner rather than later, because he is getting to old now, and death is coming along sooner than later.
Morgan says of the legacy that he will leave behind him after his death, is based on, turning that hope and promise we make to our selves for wanting to be a good boy and girl, that we do it with God’s help, and not with every one else’s prescriptions and medications and treatments. He says that “Having that living Faith alone in Jesus Christ alone, by the Word of God and the Holy Ghost alone, in one self, is what makes all of the difference from being willing to become a good boy or girl to being able to become a good man and woman.” It is what really works for every one according to Morgan. And the Bible.
Morgan and I became friends some years back now, almost twenty years ago and he has become a shining example of the quiet achiever type of bloke we all strive to become. And we all say of him, that his jokes have sorted them selves out, as has his tongue and vocabulary. I cannot say that I had any great effect on him in his new walk of life in the Lord Jesus, but he certainly has helped me a lot, in how I used to practice faith in Jesus to how I do it these days (Good on ya, Morgan and what a blessing you are to every one, thanks be to God). And thank you too God. Amen.
How about you? do you still want to be a good boy too? Do you promise?
The End.
Morgan grew up to be of medium height round about five foot seven inches tall, and well built though rather stocky. He had blond hair and blue eyes and a sweet smile, with a very baby face. Which he used to get teased about by his friends from time to time. He was bright and intelligent and appeared to be a good boy most of the time, but like so many others he had a peculiar way of getting into trouble when every one least expected it. He parents were really anxious over his ways, and sent him to the local psychologist many times over rather than seeing him in a boy’s home for his delinquent ways.
Every one liked him, but soon enough his ways became the talk of the town, and though it was hushed up, most of the time, though a word escaped through some adults lips as he passed by them (psst, there’s that ………child….his poor parents, and family), from time to time. And he had no idea why they would say that of him….and it was as if, he had no knowledge of right and wrong, good and evil, moral and immoral abilities, nor discernment and comprehension.
Yet how sad it was for him no one knew. For he knew he had done a wrong thing, and had caused some one an injury of some kind, because each time his parents got angry with him, he knew he had done some thing wrong…he just could not figure out what wrong he had done. Though he accepted his punishment each time his mother or father metered it out to him; which became either a hand across the face, or the strap, or a stick across his bum, he could not quite grasp the significance of his wrong, nor to whom. Though his parents warned him never to go near, this boy or that girl ever again. Which he never did. He really disliked getting belted or the cane or a smack across the face, especially from his mother. And each time, he always promised he would be a good boy, every time, and every time his parents knew that he meant it, and were happy with his commitment and how well he succeeded to be just that, a good boy.
Yet no one knew how scared of life and of every thing around him, he really was. Nor did any one know he was always off with the fairies in wonderland most of the time. For that was where he lived and felt the happiest and safest. He seemed to have an above average I.Q. and athletic abilities, and every one knew how well he excelled in all types of sports and swimming, and cross country running. But he had that peculiar way about him, which got him into trouble one way or another many times over, till he joined the Army in 67 and had to go off to war.
When he came back from the war, every one thought that it was the war that had turned him into a complete liar and a cheat and a criminal, and a very hated man by his fellow soldiers, including his new wife of just three years before he was discharged four years later. He was so fierce at times, that people took one look at him and walked quickly away, as fast as they could and as far away as they could get. Yet no one knew of his anxiety over the dismal way his life seemed to always turn around and become. Nor, did they know how much he hated himself and religion.
He seemed to be so happy go lucky most of the time and be able to put those bad times way behind him, and then that peculiar way of his would get him into more trouble; and every time he would regret his bad behaviour and say with all honesty, I’ll be a good boy, I promise I will. And the cycle would start all over again. To every ones dismay. But the time came when he was locked up several times in a row, for his sinful and bad ways, and by this time in the mid seventies a new thing called the “Electric shock treatment” had come into high fashion, to help those who appeared to be of a serious pathological mental deterioration type (incorrigible) as well as more and more social workers and group discussion times and more visits to the mental ward, and with a new type of doctor called Psychiatrists.
Yet as effective as these times seemed to be for him Morgan could not be shaken free from his incorrigible ways effectively enough to help in straightening himself out. And every one was giving up on him more and more often. No one had to tell him he was a hopeless and helpless case, for deep inside of himself he already knew that. He had even tried suicide several times, and he hoped this last time would really do the job for him; but no, it did not, and he knew then that even death did not want him; for him, he knew that his case was that no one seemed to be able to help him.
Then, over the next fifteen years of his adult life, he was given many courses on experimental drugs and diagnosed with various mental conditions which to him were a lot of dumb talk and of no help at all. For even he could diagnose himself “his was a helpless and hopeless case,” which no one could help him with. There was no use telling him, it was all centered in his mind, hell, he knew that much. What he could not understand, was why he was that way? And no one could give him an answer to that question. And with all of the tests and experimental drugs and electric shock treatments and prison time and around and around he went, no one he knew could help free him from the grip of his mental come moral dysfunctional dilemmas.
And all he ever wanted was to be a good boy, and be loved by his parents and most people around him, for even he knew that not every one is going to like him and he is not going to like every one all of the time either. And to love his now ex wife and children: For he knew he had to stay away from them, because even he did not trust himself in peoples company any more (neither did the police and the courts). In fact he was more at peace with himself in prison than any where else. He even worked it out, that, if he could not manage his life out side of prison and that death did not want him, and that he would not be able to stand up on his own two feet out side of prison, where he had to daily strive to succeed to be a good boy, then it was at least easier to do so in prison where he had little or no decision making to do, and no real effort to do other than follow the orders of the screws come prison guards. To him, that was the easiest and safest way of being a good boy that he knew he could manage on a daily basis.
The time came around once more, when he had stuffed up one more time and he was in prison one more time. And this time, he just wanted out of the pain and misery and shame and guilt and worry over trying one more time. He knew he had no more strength, nor stamina, nor fitness, nor endurance, nor will to try one more time, for one more day. No, not even in prison, he just wanted out of it all - To disappear like a mist of air, just gone. That night, he gave up the ghost in his cell. That night as his body hit the bed, it was for one last time, and he was dead before he had landed on his bed. He had literally given up the ghost, and died, and breathed his last breath.
The next morning was the miracle revealed: he woke up: then slowly he became aware that some how some thing mysterious had happened to him; and he did not know what it was. He only knew he felt different, as if some thing had been taken out of him. But the memory of what or how, failed to come to his attention nor thinking, at that time. He felt happy some how, and clean some how, and light some how. But of the how, he never even thought of at all.
And as he pinched himself, he thought ouch, that hurt, so may be he is not dreaming it all up. Then the next miracle happened when he was the first one out of the block and into the yard, into the hot morning Sun. And as he had moved just two steps into the sunlight of the day, his feet were melded into the yard ground, and then from on high he felt a wonderful refreshing living liquid presence being poured into him, like water into a jug from the tap, only this came from heaven. When he felt as if he was full up, with this refreshing liquid from on high, his feet became un-melded from the yard ground and he could walk once more, and he walked over to his spot half way down on the left in the shade of the wall, and sat down on his haunches.
He had no idea of what had happened to him. Nor any thing else for a week. He seemed to be in a different kind of daze for that week. No one could get any kind of sense out of him. He kept saying to the other cons, that God had put him here to get sorted out, or God put me in here because I could not fit in out there, or now I am in the right place at the right time, and am going to get all of the answers to all of my life’s problems, and so on, till every one thought he was going nuts. His previous times in prison had always been for four months, but this time he thought he had been given a lifer sentence. He was after all, now sixty. What else could they do to him, except put him away for life? And he was happy with that assessment, of his current situation. Yet he had one screw which had been a friend to him from time to time, on the out side, and he came to him in the yard a week later saying “what on earth are you in for? A bloke like you does not belong in a place like this.” He said to him, I don’t know, and I guess I do, because here I am, and I think I got life this time, which is alright with me, so don’t worry none about me, I’ll be alright, from now on.
His friend said “I will come and let you know what you got and why in a few days time, but I cannot show favouritism to you much.” When he came back, His friend said “I just don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it – its not you at all. Oh, you got just four months and not the life sentence you thought you had.” And Morgan said, “Thanks mate, I’ll be alright in here from now on. Don’t worry.”
Well that was the turning point for Morgan, but no one really knew of it, till a few years later. No one knew that when it was getting closer to the time to finish his four months and be released, he was so frightened to come out, that he had planned which screws to kill and when and how, just so as he could spend the remaining time of his life in prison where he knew he could cope and feel the safest. But then that miracle kicked in and helped him to see that he will be able to do time on the out side from now on and need never be back inside from that moment on. He asked one of his new friends that would come and visit the prisoners from time to time, to meet him on the day and morning of his release to help him and guide him on how to live on the out side from now on.
Some how he knew that he would be able to live up to his former promises of wanting to be a good boy from now on. His new friend helped him for several days and he went back to Sydney to meet his wife hoping that she would want him back, but it never worked out that way. She never wanted to see him ever again and to keep away from their children as well, forever, and so he ha to start life all over again. And with the help of another friend in Sydney that his new friend in Victoria had introduced him to, he began the long hard struggle of over seven years, to learn how to stand on his own two feet one more time. It was about the third year mark, that he was manoeuvred by his inner friend, that he was led to the Church and a Presbyterian Church at that. He called up the minister there, and in a few days the minister came to visit him at his place, and they had a long hard chat, and the Minister said to him “your going to be alright from now Morgan, don’t worry, your going to be alright from now on, thanks be to God, who has worked this miracle in you from back then.” And bit by bit Morgan began to visit the Presbyterian Church ever since.
And today even though it was a long hard struggle for the next seven years, Morgan learned how to be a good Man, and no longer just a good boy. Today Morgan helps others in the church, with their problems with wanting to be a good boy, by first asking them, would you rather learn how to be a good man first? This always brings a smile to most of the men and women he works with, in the church.
And yet, no one really knows of his old dead life except maybe his minister (and occasionally those with whom he has had the most success with). Yet it always turns out that some one who is struggling to be a good boy or girl is left in his care in which to help them too, hopefully over this part of their disturbed lives. So that they can miss out on those twenty to thirty or more years of bitter morose and hopelessness and helplessness.
Morgan has helped a lot of people in this way over the years and he has had many a long day and longer night in their presence, in their homes and them in his, and he loves it. He finally got a job as a baker and loves it too. And his parents have mellowed in their later years, towards him to others. Which he loves that part about them as well. His brothers and sisters struggle with their lives, and with their marriages too, but he just prays for them every day too. He hopes that both his parents and his brother and sister will be wanting God’s divine intervention in their lives sooner rather than later, because he is getting to old now, and death is coming along sooner than later.
Morgan says of the legacy that he will leave behind him after his death, is based on, turning that hope and promise we make to our selves for wanting to be a good boy and girl, that we do it with God’s help, and not with every one else’s prescriptions and medications and treatments. He says that “Having that living Faith alone in Jesus Christ alone, by the Word of God and the Holy Ghost alone, in one self, is what makes all of the difference from being willing to become a good boy or girl to being able to become a good man and woman.” It is what really works for every one according to Morgan. And the Bible.
Morgan and I became friends some years back now, almost twenty years ago and he has become a shining example of the quiet achiever type of bloke we all strive to become. And we all say of him, that his jokes have sorted them selves out, as has his tongue and vocabulary. I cannot say that I had any great effect on him in his new walk of life in the Lord Jesus, but he certainly has helped me a lot, in how I used to practice faith in Jesus to how I do it these days (Good on ya, Morgan and what a blessing you are to every one, thanks be to God). And thank you too God. Amen.
How about you? do you still want to be a good boy too? Do you promise?
The End.
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Comment by John Sinclair
I have recently come across an image of a painting of Jesus by artist Dan Proops which I found most offensive. I would be interested to know
what your viewpoint is. the website concerned is
www.samsdesktop3.com
Yours Faithfully
John Sinclair
Comment by The Old Man
Compelled Christian
www.compelledchristian.com
With this man Mr.Dan Proop, I have checked his web site, that you made mention of, and it is not what I would normally want to associate myself with.
Mind you though, I am just as human as anyone else, when it comes to being abstract and rebellious against myself and God; although that does not happen as often as it used to do, and I thank God for that, too; but as a doctrinally sound Protestant Reformed Christian Man, I tend to stick to what I am told not to do according to as God has ordained in His Ten Commandments; For example :Thou shalt make any graven images, from anything of anything that is in heaven nor in the sea that resembles anything to do with heaven, including God, the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost.
So this type of depiction by Mr. Dan Proop is very wrong in deed. For example, I went to see the movie made by Mel Gidson called "The Passion" and it described some of the biblical accounts surrounding Jesus the Christ (but not as the biblical account of how he the one and only Messiah and only Justifier and only Mediator of all of His predestinated and effectually called chosen people.
I half expected to see a well docummented biblical account,and what I got was alot of Roman Catholic doctrinal work surrounding their sinful idea of the Virgin Mary. And with in the first five minutes of its screening I was so distressed and angry that it was just a mock up and lies about the events from the biblical account, that when it was over, I went and demanded for my money back and got it fully refunded.
So this pictorial of a modern day looking Jesus showing his nakedness, by this Mr. Dan Proops, is just as disgusting to me.
Just as it says in God's Ten Commandments "Thou shalt not covet thy nerighbours son, nor his daughter, nor his wife, nor his manservant, nor his maid servant, nor anything that is thy neighbours; including his nakedness."
And if you read the Authorised King James Bible, in the book of Deuteronomy from chapters fourteen to twenty five, you will see what I mean,and what God says about this sort of thing, regarding uncovering thy neighbours nakednes, and any one elses nakedness.
It is never too difficult to day to see how we (as totally fallen mankind) want to go backwards to an often thought of nastalgia and the Renaissence type of era. And we do it simply because we are totally fallen human beings in the very depths of our seed which produces our nature.
It is in our seed that produces our revulsion of God and want to invent any other kind of logic and theories of an evolution that created us, rather than taking the truth on the chin like a good grown up ought to be able to do. For we were created by God who created all things. Like it or not.
And He and HIs Word, is to be the only necessary authority over our consciences day by day, and night by night. But do we all agree with that type of biblical logic on a daily basis all over the world? No, of course not. But the truth is, we are to. For example when God rested on the seventh day and hallowed it, He also hallowed it for every one in the world for all eternity. So that mankind was to have at least one day off, in which to rest and to worship Him and be under the preaching of His Word from generation to generation.
But do we all believe in this biblical account of His Word? of course not.
And with this type of pictorial depiction of Jesus, I have to ask myself, would I have it hanging in my home...or on my dash board in my car, or truck and so on, No, of course not. Nor would I have anything that depicts the figure of Jesus in anyway shape or form, not even of so called angels in heaven, nor the virgin mary, and so on. None of that type of thing is to be in our homes,nor purses, nor wallets, nor cars, nor photo-abums, and so on, but do we all belive in God's Word on that matter, No, of course not.
Well John I thank you for your question and I hope I have answered it accordingly to your satisfaction.
Anyway have a great day today.
Sincerely The Old Man...