Charles (Chuck) Kensinger

Last year I turned seventy. My Dad was sixty when he died. Kayla was just a baby. She now has babies of her own. Michelle remembers her grandpa from stories we tell her. Her own memories of him have been erased by the years.

I am a great father. How do I know this? Not because my children have told me, but because Dad taught me how to be a great father. He taught by example. Every day of my life he demonstrated to me what it meant to be a man. When times were easy, it looked easy. When times were tough, it still did not look that hard, because he made it look easy.

I also have a heavenly father. My brother, Jesus, teaches me about Him. He talked about His Father and said He was our Father. I read the scriptures, and Holy Spirit tells me who God is. We’ll talk more about what I have learned about the triune God, Jehovah, in future columns.

One of my favorite columns about my Dad was written more than fifteen years ago. I am reprinting it here for you.

The big rig was parked on Campbell Street. The driver was waiting patiently to back into the Positronic Industries facility. I worked in that building. I knew that driver. 

There was not enough room at the loading dock to pull in and then back into the dock. The drivers had to wait on the street until the gates were opened and then back in. Some truckers parked on the street and unloaded the cargo there. Our receivers had to bring the forklift to them. They did not enjoy backing into the small area with employee cars on both sides. This driver was not one of them. He watched as the gates opened and carefully backed between them. My mind wandered.

I was a young boy. I don’t remember how young. We stood and watched another driver. This time I was with my father and brother. It was not a truck, the driver was backing, it was a large fifth-wheel camping trailer. Our family was tent camping in another part of the campground and we three had walked to where we could fill our water jug. The owner of the huge, expensive camper was making his fourth attempt to get the rig onto the pad straight while his wife stood on the pad and directed him. When the wheels fell off one side of the pad again, the driver cursed how small the pad was. He cursed his wife for not directing him properly. He got out of the pickup and cursed my Father. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing”, Dad replied. “I just wondered if you wanted help.” The angry man looked at us and grumbled, “I’ll bet you a hundred dollars you can’t hit that pad with this thing.” “I don’t want your money, but I can try to park it for you.” The scowl on the trailer’s owner said nothing and Dad stepped past him and swung into the seat of the truck. He checked and adjusted both side mirrors. “I’ll spot you from the pad”, the other man offered. “If you and your wife stand with my boys so they’ll be safely out of the way, it would be more helpful,” he said as he started to pull the truck and camper forward.

“He’ll need to pull up more than that”, the other man said as the trailer started to move back up the pad. In less than a minute the trailer was centered on the pad on all four sides. “How could you do that so easily?”, was the question from the owner. “I’m a truck driver”, was the reply. “I do this all day for a living.”

A hundred-dollar bill was offered but was refused by the trucker. After tough negotiations and a whispered plea from the wife, he accepted twenty dollars to take his family to dinner. The walk back to the campground was a quiet one, but Mom was not quiet when she was shown the newly acquired twenty. When told by my brother that they could have had a hundred, she said Dad was right to only accept twenty dollars. “Christians shouldn’t take advantage of others”, she replied.

As I watched the trucker swing out of the seat of the tractor, a tear dropped from my eye. I wished I could call Dad and tell him about the distant memory that had come back. A whispered, “Dad, I love you and miss you.” was all I could do that day.

©Copyright 2025 by Charles Kensinger