Why Have Bulldog Blood:
O.K. You want to know. You want to know how I did it. Maybe even how I do it now. So—in 2 minutes you will know.
My #1 characteristic as a lifelong achiever can be said in 2 words: Bulldog Blood. That’s bulldog blood. Do you know the nature of a bulldog?
Imagine this: A bulldog comes after you. Once that dog gets its iron-jaw teeth into your leg, it locks on. And does not let go.
You can shoot the dog. You can end its life. Still that iron jaw, those teeth do not release their hold. That’s it. That’s how I transformed my life experience from abuse, emptiness and lack to worldly success. With bulldog blood.
When I was 4, my father, 29, started beating me. Every evening. Bare ass beatings. That’s right. He pulled down my short pants and beat my bare ass.
With a sturdy cat-o-nine-tails he had me watch him make from clothesline. He caused me to sit there in the basement of our red brick row house at 6050 Webster Street in West Philadelphia and watch him make a thick knot in the end of every tail.
That first evening I listened to my angels. They told me I was to defy him. I did. Though he hit me hard, determined to break my spirit, I defied him. I did not make a sound. Not one peep.
I resolved to not let his cruelty touch me. He was bigger and stronger than I. He could beat my body. He could not reach me. Not the real me. Not my essence. Not my inner self. (I didn’t know these words then and I sure sensed the concept.)
As he manufactured the first cat-o-nine-tails he peered into my eyes for my reaction. He saw a stony stare.
After 2 or 3 years of these nightly beatings, he wore out his instrument. So he made another. This time he made me watch him double-knotting each knot on the end of every tail.
There were 4 years, 48 months, 208 weeks, about 1500 consecutive evenings of these stinging scenes. He never heard a sound from me. Not once.
I gritted my teeth and reflected. Yes, at 4, I reflected on the roots and the nature of his bestial behavior. When I was 8, he simply stopped. I had prevailed. He did not break my spirit. I don’t think he liked the way I stared him down.
Two outcomes eventuated: I became—and am—incorrigible. Resolutely so. And gentle. I developed huge empathy for the human condition.
The iron resolve I manifested at 4 made the difference for me.
I started on what became a lifelong pattern of creating the conditions and circumstances I desired at the time.
Years later I created my blog . . . my Bare Ass blog!
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