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One typographical error I found in the Bible (KJV)

I remember coming across these two passages many years ago and thinking, “I found an error in the Bible.” But as the years passed I could not recall the name of the king, or the chapters and verses of the apparent contradiction. Just recently I began to, through an online program, read the Bible through in a year. Today I came across the first one and realized I had re-found the mistake.

2 Chronicles 22

1 And the inhabitants of Jerusalem made Ahaziah his [Jehoram’s] youngest son king in his stead: for the band of men that came with the Arabians to the camp had slain all the eldest. So Ahaziah the son of Jehoram king of Judah reigned.

2 Forty and two years old was Ahaziah when he began to reign, and he reigned one year in Jerusalem. His mother’s name also was Athaliah the daughter of Omri.

2 Kings 8

26. Two and twenty years old was Ahaziah when he began to reign; and he reigned one year in Jerusalem. And his mother’s name was Athaliah, the daughter of Omri king of Israel.

Since Ahaziah’s father, Jehoram, was only forty years old when HE died,1 and Ahaziah began to reign at Jehoram’s death, I suggest the correct age of Ahaziah (when he began to reign in Jerusalem) was twenty-two…not forty-two. I do not know whether this typo can be traced back to the ancient Hebrew, or is a translator’s error. However, in my mind, the King James Version is not completely without error. My faith in God, His Son Jesus Christ, and His Holy Scriptures, is still intact and as strong as ever. And, although there are many apparent contradictions in the Bible, all of them (so far, anyway) can be cleared up and understood correctly by returning to the original languages. This is the only typographical error I know of in the entire Bible.

I hope my pointing out of this error does not damage anyone’s faith. Since I was saved and born again in 1979, I have had a deep and abiding love and respect for the truth. And one thing I have learned through the years: God certainly CAN handle the truth. And He desires all of His children to know the truth in all matters in life. I just don’t think Christians should take another’s word that the KJV is “inerrant” when it is obviously not. May our heavenly Father bless us ALL in our diligent search for the truth.


There is one thing on my to do list that I cannot seem to get done: FIND A JOB! I have been looking for a job since mid-2007. Not constantly, though, because I have had to scratch and claw working as a painter/handyman/home improvement contractor/ or whatever else I could do to earn money, for 4 solid years. But during the down times I searched the Sunday paper, online, networked, etc. to no avail. I’ve never seen it like this. I have not been able to pay my mortgage payment for about 2 years (or is it 3?). And it is only $419.22! I live in a trailer park with a rent payment of $375. I have never NOT paid this. But now it is beginning to look like I may miss my 1st park rent payment in over 9 years. The reason I have not been thrown out of my home (and I don’t know this for certain) is that there are so many other folks who are unable to pay their mortgages, who have MUCH higher payments than I, that I’m not even on the radar screen of my mortgage cpmpany. I am also in arrears in my property/school taxes…and have been for a couple years. In fact, I am a good 2 years behind. I have been forced to participate in payment plans in which, if I were to be late with just 1 payment, the sheriff might be called to “vacate” myself, Linda, Amanda…all of our belongings…and about a dozen pets onto the street. It doesn’t feel good.

I have told everyone I know how badly I need work. I have refused to apply for Social Security Disability, in hopes that I can find a job I enjoy, not too far from home, and that pays just enough to cover the bills with a little left over.

UPDATE: I applied for SSD benefits in November. I was denied. I appealed in January. I am still waiting. I have no prospects for a job, or work of any kind. My taxes are due, my rent is 10 months in arrears, and I am still trying to believe in my country, the human race, and my Heavenly Father. But it is getting extremely hard…

History Lesson on Your Social Security Card

Just in case some of you young whippersnappers (& some older ones) didn’t know this: It’s easy to check out, if you don’t believe it. Be sure and show it to your family and friends. They need a little history lesson on what’s what and it doesn’t matter whether you are Democrat or Republican.

Facts are Facts.

Social Security Cards up until the 1980s expressly stated the number and card were not to be used for identification purposes. Since nearly everyone in the United States now has a number, it became convenient to use it anyway and the message, “NOT FOR IDENTIFICATION” was removed.

History Lesson on Your Social Security Program

Franklin D. Roosevelt, a Democrat, introduced the Social Security (FICA) Program in the 1930’s. He promised:


A. That participation in the Program would be completely voluntary,


It is no longer voluntary.


B. That the participants would only have to pay 1% of the first $1,400 of their annual incomes into the program,


Now we must pay 7.65% on the first $90,000.


C. That the money the participants elected to put into the Program would be deductible from their income for tax purposes each year,


Contributions are no longer tax deductible.


D. That the money the participants put into the independent ‘Trust Fund’ (rather than into the general operating fund), and therefore, would ONLY be used to fund the Social Security Retirement Program, and no other Government programs,


Under President Johnson, the money was moved to The General Fund and Spent.


E. That the annuity payments to the retirees would never be taxed as income.


Under Clinton & Gore, up to 85% of your Social Security can be taxed.




Since many of us have paid into FICA for many years, and are now receiving a Social Security check every month, and finding that we are being taxed on 85% of the money we paid to the Federal government to ‘put away,’ you may be interested in the following:


Q: Which Political Party took Social Security from the independent ‘Trust Fund’ and put it into the general fund so that Congress could spend it?


A: It was Lyndon Johnson and the democratically controlled House and Senate.


Q: Which political party eliminated the income tax deduction for Social Security (FICA) withholding?


A: The Democratic Party.


Q: Which Political Party started taxing Social Security annuities?


A: The Democratic Party, with Al Gore casting the ‘tie-breaking’ deciding vote as President of the Senate, while he was Vice President of the US.


Q: Which Political Party decided to start giving annuity payments to immigrants?


A: Jimmy Carter and the Democratic Party. Immigrants moved into this country, and at age 65, began to receive Social Security payments! The Democratic Party gave these payments to them, even though they never paid a dime into it!


Then, after violating the original contract (FICA), the Democrats turn around and tell you that the Republicans want to take your Social Security away!


And the worst part about it is that uninformed citizens believe it ! If enough people read this, maybe a seed of awareness will be planted and outrage will grow…I think it’s worth a try…

Actions speak louder than bumper stickers!



“We live in the greatest nation on earth, and we aim to change that”…Barack Hussein Obama

My Life by Paul Tiderman

Now I wish I had begun writing this account a long, long time ago. Ten years ago, my memory was a steel trap. I can remember thinking I was able to recall at least 95% of my experiences from the age of five! From about five and earlier, the percentage decreases until the age of two and a half years. Prior to that is a complete blank. Now, however, I estimate that my ability to recall is about half of what it was. But I’m hoping that, in the process of writing this memoir, some of the lost recollections will be restored to me. The following few paragraphs consist mainly of second-hand information from my parents and other relatives. I should start with some family background, since it certainly has had a profound effect on who I am today.

My father, Sanford Oscar Tiderman, Jr., was born in Reading, PA in 1938 or 39. He was the 3rd child born to Sanford Oscar Tiderman and Fern Elenor (Davis) Tiderman. But he was the 1st male child. He wound up having 3 sisters and 2 brothers. His family life was plagued by dysfunction, violence and uncertainty. This was due primarily to his father’s rampant drinking binges and infidelity. His emotional needs, or those of his siblings, were not even recognized by his parents. I suppose this was typical for the times. I have reason to believe his older sisters probably did their best to help him get through a very difficult childhood. But my father was physically abused and damaged mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. Consequently, he produced children who were also abused and damaged in these areas.

As a small child, I had no idea what life was “supposed” to be like. I guess I believed being scared to death of your own father was normal…and being severely beaten with a hand-carved, custom made with a strategically placed knothole, wooden board was the norm. My first indication that it was not normal was when I returned to school from lunch one day (I actually lived so close to my school that I walked home everyday to eat lunch) with a big red welt across my face. It was so obvious that my teacher took me to the principal’s office, and I think I remember being sent to the nurse’s office. They drilled me about the cause of the injury and I told them the truth: My mother got mad at me and smacked me across the face with a wet dishrag. I soon realized that these people were not sympathetic towards my mother. I began to defend her. I didn’t want her to get into trouble. Then the family secrets began.

My brothers and I tried to stay out of my father’s way as best as we could. But, eventually there would come a day when that was no longer possible. Probably the most dreaded situation I faced as a child, was my father learning that I misbehaved in some way that deserved a beating. Actually, the absolute worse scenario was when one of the neighbors called with some complaint. In these cases, my father had a hard and fast policy: Beat them all hard and fast, then find out what happened…or not. Other than this particular instance, my father was completely unpredictable. If he had been drinking…just the right amount…he might laugh about it. Or, if he was stressed out about something at the time, he might give my mother $20 and instruct her to “Go to bingo,” line us up, make us drop our drawers, and beat the living daylights out of us. We just never knew what to expect.

Now, I’m not claiming that we didn’t deserve what we got at times. And I’m not saying that we didn’t actually NEED a spanking quite regularly…because we did. And I’m not one of those people that thinks spanking is unacceptable. On the contrary, I strongly believe it is a valuable tool for effective parenting. But, I do believe it should not be the first resort of discipline. In fact, it should be closer to the last. Also, each child is different. Some children only need a stern look to be reached. Others only require an, “I’m dissappointed in you” talk. But some need corporal punishment to get through to them. I know this from experience. However, although I am confident in these views, the MOST IMPORTANT THING for raising respectful, loving children is to LOVE THEM! My parents didn’t offer ANY demonstrable love or affection to counter-balance the severe discipline. That was the primary reason my parent’s attempts at discipline failed. So, without love and affection, I began to focus my efforts on simply surviving.



It’s funny. I remember when the Pear Tree boutique, in Hamilton, first opened. I guess it must’ve been around 1970. It was on the same side of Harford Rd. as the A&P…and for those of you who don’t remember the A&P…the Hamilton Tavern. They sold mostly rock and roll (and possibly disco) record albums, incense, paraphernalia, and cool posters. But they didn’t have a large selection of clothes…not that I recall. Earl Bessler, who lived on White Ave. with his younger brother, Billy, was working there. They lived in the house that was just east of the alley that ran through the back-field. A couple years later, when they moved over to the other side of Harford Rd., Earl Bessler stayed with them. In the new place, they had more room. I’m pretty sure there was a basement level that they turned into a ‘psychedelic space’ with the coolest ‘black light’, or fluorescent, posters that I had ever seen. I can’t really remember whether they had this feature at the first location. But, they definitely had it at one of the locations, if not both.


I bought my first pair of hip-huggers at the Pear Tree. The zipper was about 2 inches long. They were also bell-bottoms. They were day-glow orange and made of a really soft, brushed cotton denim. They got lots of feels from the chicks, too. I was finally cool, I thought, at 12 or 13! Well, not quite cool enough…not yet. But, I bought a pair of “Jack Percells” not too much longer after that. And, if you remember that specific period of time (’71-’73), as a guy, you weren’t cool unless you had long hair, wore “Jacks,” with bell-bottom pants, and a U.S. Army jacket from Sunny’s Surplus. Of course, suede jackets were also cool…as long as they had the fringes. And, I think, denim jackets were acceptable. This is a generalization, of course. There were some who broke these rules, but remained ‘cool’.


My last memories of the Pear Tree include the sale of amil nitrate, (I think that’s right). It was also known as “rush.” It came in a very small bottle, was very cheap, and took you far out of this world for awhile…in very short bursts. It was so volatile that most of it evaporated into the air! It was a notorious killer of brain cells! Then, if my memory serves me, Rush was outlawed in less than a year. Then, so was paraphernalia. Daa…da dum dum…the end of the Pear Tree.




Back in 1984, John Strickland and I worked together as painters for Johns Hopkins University. One Friday, he asked me if I’d be interested in going camping over the weekend. I told him yes, but I’d have to check with my wife (since she would be going with us). John said he was taking his girlfriend (Kathy Singer) along with her son, and his son, Lucas. So, it was going to be a family affair.


Well, my ex-wife and I used to go camping a lot and she liked it. So, it wasn’t that hard to convince her to go. John said he knew of this place that was the BEST CAMPSITE EVER…and it was FREE! So, we agreed to go along. We threw some things into the car, met up with John and Kathy, and their boys. They were fairly young. I didn’t ask John exactly where this place was. He said it was along the C & O Canal. So I told him to take it easy driving and I would follow him,


After about 2 1/2 hours of driving, John pulled over to the side of a road, in the middle of nowhere. I noticed railroad tracks and rock cliffs on either side of the road. Well, I probably forgot to mention this. But my ex wife was about 6 months pregnant! John and I get out of the cars and I ask him what the matter is. I figured he was having car trouble, or something. He says, “This is it! We are here!” I said, “What are you talking about? You see, I was expecting a campground-type of setting. So was my wife.


John says, “No man. This is real camping!” He then proceeded to walk across the tracks, down a hill, across a footbridge that was traversing the C&O Canal! Then he keeps walking until we are standing on the top of some BIG rocks…looking down at about what looks like 10 feet of sand between the base of the rock cliffs, and the Potomac River! And, to make it even more interesting, there were about a half dozen men sitting around a small campfire that looked way too much like hobos! John yelled down, “Are you guys gonna be much longer?” They replied, “No…not too much longer.” So John said to me, “Let’s go for a little ride and we’ll come back later.”


Well, I’m thinking about my pregnant wife and those rock cliffs that must be climbed, and all the stuff we brought, and ask John one more time, “Are you kidding me, John?” He assured me he was serious about this campsite. So, as we got into our cars, I began a tremendous sales pitch about how great this campsite is, and what fun we’re going to have.


After killing some time, waiting for the hobos to leave, we came back to the roadside. We had to park between railroad tracks and these rock walls… You know, when they blast through solid-rock mountains to build roads or railroad tracks? Anyway, I had my 6-month pregnant wife convinced this was going to be a great camping experience. We all grabbed as much as we could carry and headed toward the footbridge over the C&O Canal. Kathy had her son, Danny and John had Lucas. When we crossed the footbridge, we only had to walk another 25 yards, or so to get to the edge of the cliff. It wasn’t that far down to the “beach”…about 25-30 feet down.


As I was climbing down (I had to help my wife down), we chose our spots to set up our tents…and it was getting dark fast! I went back to the car for the rest of our stuff. I came back and John and Kathy had their tent almost set up. It only took a few minutes to set up ours. Suddenly, I look up river (the Potomac) and there is a storm coming! And it’s coming fast! That portion of the Potomac is bound on both sides by steep, high (in most places) mountains. So the storm is coming toward us, just like it is in a funnel. I throw as much of our stuff into the tent as quickly as I can. And we all take cover ASAP!


In the tent with my pregnant wife, I don’t have a clue what is in store for me…It starts raining SOOO HARD! In less than 5 minutes a stream forms INSIDE our tent! I’m on one side…she’s on the other. You see, the tent is sitting at the base of the rock cliffs. And all the storm water that hits those rocks flows down hard and fast. We just happened to be smack-dab in the middle of one of the major streams. This couldn’t really be helped since the whole “beach” is only about 25 feet wide and 50 feet long. Speaking of which, I begin to realize that, with heavy rain, the river is bound to be rising. I stick my head out of the tent, and the river is less than 10 feet from me! It is running 3 times faster than before. And it is almost 10 feet closer! I am beginning to be alarmed at this point.


Then, about as quickly as it all started…it stopped. I and my pregnant wife crawl out of our tent (complete with a water feature we didn’t bargain on), and we notice that we forgot 1 paper bag…the one that is full of food. Well, it all got ruined. At this point, the river is about 8 feet from our tent and running fast. I look to my left and can see the thunderstorm moving away. I look to my right and see a cloud of something…I’m not sure what it is…that is, until mosquitoes by the millions are swarming all around us! Well, we barely had time to grab the bag of wet food, throw it in the tent, than dive in after it!


If looks could kill, I’d be dead. My 6-month pregnant former wife did not find the humor in this situation at all. I mean, we barely got the tent set up when the t-storm came rumbling down the valley. Now we were inundated with voracious insects trying to suck our blood. I peak out of my tent hoping that it is clear for me to put a little distance between myself and my rotund, angry wife. But…no such fortune. I see John Strickland trying to light his cigarette with a Coleman lantern, swatting at hoards of mosquitoes, and saying, “It’s not that bad out here…” No one was buying what he was selling. So I turn to Maria, and she’s giving me the death-stare…but not for long. Because she announces, “I am not sleeping here!” After a couple of hushed attempts to dissuade her, I accepted my fate. It was growing dark so we said our “fair wells”, grabbed our clothes and valuables, said, “Goodnight all,” and climbed up the rocks out of that little piece of paradise.


I can only imagine that, eventually the mosquitoes thinned out to a manageable density, and a normal-type of camping ensued. My bride and I were, I did-not-know-where for awhile. But it turned out that we were across the Potomac River from Harper’s Ferry, West “By God” Virginia. We had made a day trip, or two to Harper’s Ferry. But I had never spent the night there. By the time we found a place to sleep that looked like it was open for business, it was after 10:00 and pitch dark. It was called, “Harper’s Ferry Hotel.” And it was like something from a Twilight Zone episode.


The place looked like it had been several large houses all tied together with additions and hallways. The desk appeared immediately upon entering, and faced the entrance. To the right was a sunken room with a color TV playing. And as my eyes began to adjust to the darkness, I noticed about a half-dozen very strange looking people checking us out. The lady behind the desk was kind and polite. But she looked like she walked right out of the 1950’s and it was 1984… We followed her down these long hallways that seemed to be getting smaller as we went. We finally came to a door that was about 6′-4″ high (a normal door is 7 feet high). She opened it and said that breakfast would be served in the dining hall between 7:00 and 11:00 in the morning. She said, “Goodnight.” The room wasn’t fancy. But it was clean. In fact, all of the furniture, and most of the bedclothes looked to be older than both of us. We each took a hot shower and went to sleep.


We awoke around 7:30, got packed and dressed and went to the dining room. The hotel was transformed in the bright sunlight. It was pretty quaint, really. We went through some very attractive French doors into a brightly-lighted great hall-type of room with large windows along one of the long sides. The far end consisted mainly of large French doors that led to the outside. We were pretty hungry so we sat down and looked at the menu. It was one of the best breakfast menus I had ever seen. I ordered the “Plantation-Style Breakfast” that consisted of scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes with butter and syrup, home fries with white gravy…the works! By the time we were finished eating, I could barely walk! But, I was determined to walk outside.


It turns out those doors at the far end led to the veranda. We tried to treat this mini-vacation like a 2nd honeymoon. After all, we had been married less than 6 months. So, here I was, 26 years old, with my 6-month pregnant wife (I think we were both waddling a little) out to the veranda to see what we could see. As it turned out, they had those pay-binoculars positioned strategically around the patio. I cannot recall if it cost as dime or a quarter to use. But I gladly paid whatever it was for the chance to spot my best friend in his favorite habitat. It only took me a couple minutes of scanning the banks of the Potomac River to spot my friend…he was lying on the river-bank, on a single white towel. No one else was in sight. It was about 9:00 AM. Of course, I pointed out the campsite to Maria and let her look through the binoculars. It was impossible to distinguish without the binoculars. I think we were about 1 ½ miles distant. I knew we had to go back to deal with our stuff that we left behind.


As we drove back to this “greatest campsite ever” we thought about what we left there…a tent, some food that got wet, maybe a few pots and pans. After discussing it over between ourselves, we decided that we didn’t think anything we left was worth climbing down, then up those rocks again for. So, when we found our parking place between the railroad tracks and the solid rock walls that had been blasted out. Maria said she was going to stay in the car. I got out and walked the 50-75 yards, walked across the C & O Canal footbridge over to the rocks and hollered down, “Hey, John!” He acknowledged my salute and inquired as to our lodgings for the night. I told him where we stayed and how we saw him on his towel just a little while ago. We laughed. I told him he could have our tent if he wanted it, and anything else we had left down there. He was incredulous at first. But he knew I was serious when I said, “Goodbye” and turned to go. I don’t remember speaking to him about the experience we shared. But I imagine we must have discussed it, since we worked together. I am sure that the next time he started talking about “The Best Campsite Ever!” I politely said, “No thanks, Johnny,” and laughed to myself…




When my son attended kindergarten in 1990, he came home after the very first day saying some big kid was picking on him whenever they were in line together. It seems this kid, let’s call him Kevin, thought it’d be funny to kick my son, Joseph, from behind, repeatedly, while waiting in line. I wanted to help my son, of course. But I didn’t want to have adults involved in it quite yet. I believe it is better to let the children resolve things first. And I thought the best scenario would be for my son to defend himself. After all, most bullies aren’t counting on this.


I told my son, “The next time Kevin kicks you, grab hold of his foot and just lift it towards the ceiling. This kid will fall down and bust his head open. And he will never pick on you again.” THE NEXT DAY, Joseph came home and told me that Kevin started kicking him again while they were in line. And that he did exactly as I suggested. Sure enough, Kevin went down like a load of bricks and busted his head open. “Now, Kevin wants to be my friend,” Joseph said. And from that day forward, nobody picked on my son…in that school. A few days later, I walked Joseph to school and I saw Kevin: This kid was twice the size of my son! And he walked like a gorilla, too.



One of my earliest memories:

I was three years old at the time. I hear the squealing of a car’s wheels out in front of our house and stood on my tip-toes, pulling myself up by the window sill, to try and see what it was. My father was drinking. He saw my efforts and thought he’d help me out…He says, “You wanna see out that window, Boy?” Then he proceeds to throw up the sash, grab me by my ankles, and hang me out the window by my ankles…or was it one ankle…I can’t remember that. I only remember screaming like a 3 year-old until he brought me back into the house. Oh yeah, we lived on the 2nd floor. I estimate I was about 25 feet from the ground. But, to a 3 year-old, it seemed like 100 feet. As it turned out, our next door neighbor ran over our family pet, Midnight, whose tail then had to be removed. Ahhh, early childhood memories…


Blog – NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory.

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