Some call me OG

 Some call me OG or old guy; I take both as compliments.

I was raised by books and street smarts, taught by men and women who had to be rough around the edges to survive. My Mom taught me to be kind to others and to never let go of my faith, as it would carry me through troubled times. She taught me to try to understand my feelings and how to overcome those that brought me sorrow. Because of her, I knew what it was like to love and be loved and how to treat others as you would want to be treated.

My dad taught me how to throw a punch, take one, and never start a fight, but be the one who finishes it. He taught me it was all right for a man to cry and that it didn't make him any less of a warrior. He taught me to take pride in my work and never give up trying to be a better man. He taught me that family was the breath of life and my duty was to protect my own no matter what.

My life lessons were passed on to me by my elders and by me to my children, who I hope will keep them close to their hearts. I'm sure some will stick, while others will be forgotten, like the words of an old song. But if I did my job, my children would grow up with kindness and maybe a dash of warrior in the mix.

I look back at seventy-one years of age and realize I accomplished a lot. My kids fill me with pride in knowing they achieved their dreams, and although the journey had a few speed bumps, they put their heads down and horns out until they succeeded.

Being called OG means Old gangster or old guy, and that's just fine with me. It tells me I did okay and don't have to say "sorry," just "thank you for listening and learning some OG life lessons.

Mike  2025