The maddmogg is Richard E. Morgan.
That’s ‘E’ for Evan. Among many other things, I am a successful, independent, long-standing publisher. Since 1973, I have been a pioneering influence at the cutting edge of consumer electronic technology; as a senior technologist, cross-platform influencer, editor, publisher, business owner, content creator, writer, journalist, marketing consultant, commercial photographer, graphic designer, and long-standing, multi-disciplinary educator.
This is the latest iteration of the online home base I established in 1993. It houses my rapidly expanding digital document repository and my burgeoning ‘genuine mogginess’ merchandise emporium.
But first things first…
Situation, Situation, Situation
Among what could be considered “achievements” in life, raising my four children alone, as a sole parent and solo dad, is the situation right at the top. Becoming a solo sole dad was the quickest and easiest forced-decision I have made. Thus far, it’s also the most important willing unbreakable-commitment I’ve made.
I know what follows will annoy some people, but one can’t allow personal opinion to stand in the way of truth. You see, forty-some years ago, way back in the 1980s, soleparents were women: brave, strong amazons by their choice and by court order, and seemingly always for purely financial gain. (Indeed, little seems to have changed in these past four decades.)
It was a time when all society supported and pandered to each and every want, requirement, and desire of sole parent mothers. In contrast, sole dads were out on their own, in a bleak, absolutely unforgiving world. I was confronted by an unrelenting, unmovable societal landscape which was totally hostile to my children’s basic needs.
I have no issue with supporting sole mothers. I’ve been doing so with every tax dollar since I started taxable work at 13 years old. In fact, I’ve provided significantly more than just money for sole mothers.
But I do have every single possible problem with men, in this situation, were not being supported in any way, form, or shape. In fact they were ridiculed.
In the day and age, in that era, hateful feminism was double-launching its ugly head; more malicious, demeaning and demanding than ever before, and with banshees backing up behind screaming: literally, ‘End All Men’ (again, 40 years have passed and I see no changes in this regard; nada).
So, without support of any sort or any kind from anyone or anything, I tackled both solo sole parenting and bristling, rampant, violent misandry squarely head-on and with the most genuine possible mustered smile on my face.
I would not understand the the positive significance of my actions for nearly 40 years when there is to breath and contemplate. The revelations happen daily.
There was no guaranteed free social income stream (I gainfully and legally earned every dollar I spent).
No family 57 years on, I am still a reluctant immigrant, forcefully shanghaied to a place of enforced labour, brimming with bigoted xenophobes.).
No friends. (no long term history in Australia, four high schools in the final two years.).
No special welfare.
And to add to the stress only unreliable landline phones, the haute and only full-duplex comm tech of the day, was
But society demanded that I expect absolutely nothing from it or anyone and that I stay silent about my experiences. So, I asked for nothing, was offered nothing, and paid for nothing, with a smile on display every day and then I made it all happen.
I thought writing about this was some self-aggrandisation; until I realised that, hey, this is my biography and no one else can or has the right to tell my tale.
I did all this child-rearing malarky in an out-of-the-way city suburb. (Yes, there is such a thing in Sydney.)
For four decades, and in this context, I found myself under the constant and unrelenting scrutiny of the women in the village. Where even by proxy, the eyeballs of the women, and the mothers in particular, were looking at me hawk-like for any conduct that would act as a conduit to criticism and/or provide informational tidbits that they could take to their regular, gossipy latte-luncheons.
These people worked to undermine me and determine my fate with their hexing and spite. They literally wanted me to fail and not once did they consider the knowable and hugely negative impact their behavior would inevitably have on my children. (Anyone’s child in that scenario.)
While sole-dadding is a large slice of the Richard Evan Morgan ‘personal pie chart,’ and is a major part of my male-centric information initiative, there’s certainly a great deal more to add to and expand on in subsequent Bio pages. Hopefully, there will be some experience-nourished wisdom from a self-realized cunning linguist in the words. .. at least that’s the target I will be aiming at.
And there’s more dad stuff here >>>
Panic, Panic, Panic
My existence started in the month of May, 1953, in Glamorgan, South Wales. From most of my extrapolations, this was my ‘conception month’, but I have never been able to be more specific about my early moments, with either myself or other people.
Sadly, the details surrounding my arrival in this realm have been either callously destroyed, deceptively edited, selectively censored, grossly manipulated, and/or hideously misinterpreted.
continues/…