I hope that none of my posts are ever listed in the trending bar on any social media pages. I dislike the term trendy or in. The problem I have with this is that shortly after you are in, you are out. I have built my life on just being me, not in, nor out, just strong and steady and the same today and tomorrow.
I learned at an early age that those who were popular in school soon were not popular with those who were ignored by whatever group they were in. That went from church to elementary school all the way through college. I have taken classes since I retired, and continue to see every generation doing this.
I am proud to announce that it is no worse than when I began first grade in the fall of 1960. It has not gotten any better, either. Fortunately, individuals often do not follow the groups and include outsiders in their circle of friends. I have many of these circles.
I used to have those that I worked with, and I changed that to those with whom I once shared office or plant facilities. I have always had friends, family, church families, and ever-popular brothers from other mothers. You know them, I hope. The guys or ladies you have collected over the years that you have known since…
You can fill in the dots. It may be any grade or period. Gary is what I call a hand-me-down friend. He started school with my oldest brother, Kenny, then Bud and I inherited him when the oldest graduated from high school and joined the Navy. Gary joined the Guard and went for his basic training, and then, he and I were at college together.
His nephew Michael was born on my sixteenth birthday, and when he turned sixteen, his family joined our church. On our birthday, we were having a youth fellowship, and when he came into the building, I greeted him with “Happy Sixteenth Birthday, Michael.”
He looked at me and did not even know anything about me except that his parents knew me. “How did you know it was my birthday? Oh, you saw my mom bring in the cake.” I replied, “No, this is my birthday, also, and I am thirty-two today. You were born on my sixteenth birthday.”
I am creating a new circle and not one of influence. It is a circle of readers, and I share with you, and you can return the favor through the comments. We will continue to think about how we treat others and how we want them to act towards us, despite what is trending.
Look at those who are in your groups and discuss whether you agree that we all need to be kinder and pay attention to those who are having problems, and continue to find ways to encourage our friends, no matter where we know and meet them. This is a year-round activity we can all enjoy.
I have a problem with so-called reality shows. Can there be a survivor when no one dies? Everyone on the show is a survivor. The title should be Survivors. Big Brother just shows a group of people whose every move is recorded. And they know it. Keep in mind that a reality TV show may not have a script, even though each participant has an agenda.
They write their own scripts. I create dialogue as every writer does. Often it is done in our heads. Sometimes we write it down. Other times, we save it until we can use it at the appropriate time. I have certain lines I like to use. If you say, “That drives me crazy,” I reply, “That’s not a drive it’s a short putt.”
Saying that there is no written script for these shows does not make them reality. If you want reality, put together a program made of 100% security videos where all or most of those on camera do not realize they are being recorded. The problem with this is that it would be eavesdropping and therefore illegal.
If you want true drama, comedy, and spontaneity you should watch game shows. Especially the daytime ones where there are few questions that could be studied ahead of time. Jeopardy and the other knowledge related shows can be rehearsed with many different types of questions.
I think shows like that require the contestants to try out and prove that they will not stand there with a dumb look on their faces. Shows such as “Let’s Make a Deal” or “The Price is Right” allow people to act however they want and they encourage weird and unusual behavior.
The question I have about these folks is that they always look at the audience to receive help. Especially on Drew Carey’s program it appears to me that they select contestants that cannot or will not make their own decisions. When Wayne Bradey asks his players about their jobs, very few are managers that are required to know how to make split second decisions.
Even the women who look like they know the prices of groceries seem to know little about cars, vacations, or electronics. The men that shop for these products seem not to buy their own groceries, snacks or drinks, that’s why they are always looking at wives or girlfriends in the audience.
I’ve noticed some actual reality on these games. Some use their minds to weigh the odds and not take chances that are almost always easy to predict as losers. That brings me to another long-time contest called “Wheel of Fortune.” This is supposed to be like the brain busters with a gambling twist.
When someone risks their turn and what money they already have for the chance at a ten-thousand-dollar wedge which they never get to claim I cringe. LMAD also thrives on those who are into taking chances. I don’t understand risking a twenty-five-thousand-dollar car for a one out of three chance of gaining a prize that is not that expensive. I guess not everyone in LA drives.
That’s what Mrs. Jackson was when she was my teacher in the first and second grades. I’m not sure how much seasoning she had, but she looked older than my Mom and Dad. They were in their thirties, and I thought she must be somewhere between them and my grandparents.
My third-grade teacher was about my parents’ age. Most of my teachers through grade school and junior high were in that range between my parents and their folks, at least until 7th-grade gym. That was the coach’s first year out of college. After the first quarter, he and my Dad had a conversation.
He gave me the first “D” I ever received on a grade card. It was the only grade below a “B” that I saw on any report. When my father saw it, he asked me a lot of questions. Was I always in class and dressed out? Did I follow instructions, and did I try my best?
I told him that my grade was low because I could not do as many sit-ups, pull-ups, push-ups, or run as fast as my classmates. The next morning, when he dropped me off at school, he parked and went inside to talk to the coach. Next quarter, my grade was a “B” for both quarters.
In high school, I continued to have seasoned teachers, and in my freshman year, I thought that our Spanish teacher had a little too much seasoning for my classmate Vern and I. We were in the Spanish III class as freshmen. Our class was the first to have had Spanish since fifth grade.
The administration said that we had the equivalent of the first two high school classes. She disagreed and told us that if we did not pass the first test, she would make us take the first class even if we had to wait until the following year. The scores on our first test were tied with two seniors. We all had 98%.
After that, we had no more trouble with our instructor. Another first-time teacher came along in my sophomore year. She taught my favorite subject, chemistry, and she was a hot, newly graduated blond female. Not at all seasoned in the least. She was an enjoyable, fresh face for this teenage boy. I found out that you can be seasoned at some things without being very old. One of my classmates asked if we had to heat glass tubing before we bent it. I thought that was a dumb question because of my experience.
Experience is the best teacher is a saying I’ve heard forever. My business experience proved to me that my education was a very useful thing. When I began to work in an office, I did not rely on secretaries to type purchase orders or sales documents for me; I could do that myself.
In college, my typing and shorthand from high school enabled me to take notes fast and type them as well. I still have those notes in my files for reference in my writing when I need them.
When I had the opportunity to become a sales service specialist, it was necessary to use algebraic equations to determine drive speeds, ratios, belt and chain lengths, as well as numerous other things like torque and horsepower required for machinery. When someone says they never use those skills, they probably haven’t thought about all the ways mathematics, reading, and writing have to be used in our technological world.
This is one of my favorite ways to eat ice cream. Whether it is rocky road, butter brickle, brownie fudge, or one of my other favorite flavors, it is always enjoyable. What is not enjoyable is when we or others waffle on decisions. If you are not familiar with this term, I will explain.
Do you have a boss, friend, or someone else who says one thing and then changes their mind? You know the situation. They say do this or that, and then when you start the process, you are told that was not what they meant. It is your fault. It is not because they changed their mind. That is waffling.
It can also be used for those who have trouble making up their minds. This is not as bad as the previously mentioned folks who change your instructions along with their minds. At times, these occurrences are humorous, while others are frustrating.
One of our Presidents many years ago was shown as a waffle in political cartoons because he often changed his mind on whether to sign legislation sponsored by his party. Of course, the artist supported the other candidates. No politicizing there.
I believe everyone should have the right to change their minds. Where I draw the line is when I am asked to change more than once. I had a boss who had this tendency. I never proceeded with a project until I was certain it would not cause extra work.
I have always attempted to have integrity, and part of that is communicating clearly and not moving on to a project until all decisions have been finalized. Jesus told us that a man does not build a tower until he counts the cost, and a general does not attack until he has checked whether he can win with the forces he has.
In my career, I have not been completely diligent about analyzing my own talents and abilities before accepting a new position. I took a marketing director position even though I had no experience or training in that position. It required writing copy, shooting photographs, and making layouts for brochures and catalogs.
These were procedures with which I had a great deal of experience. When I took my first purchasing job, I had already learned about almost every product that I would be responsible for acquiring. This was done as I was a salesman and a manager at retail stores. When asked if I could do the job, I immediately replied yes. It was no a brainer for me.
I was an office manager with a company for a total of eighteen years when our branch manager started fighting breast cancer. I was required to step into her duties and be both the office manager and the branch manager. During my time at these two positions, I also made calls as our salesman and was able to increase the sales for the branch significantly.
Setting your mind on what you need to do and getting it done is the best way to live your life. I’ve been laid off twice and fired once from jobs. The one I lost for cause claimed that I wanted to be terminated.
I returned the day after I was let go to return my keys, and a former employee was at my desk. They wanted to give my position to someone else and did not have the decency to just tell me that. That is not waffling; it is the epitome of bad management. Whenever I hear someone is considering working there, I don’t explain myself; I just tell them to stay away from them.
I know that Bill Cosby has been disgraced for the crimes he has been convicted of. As a kid, I listened to his albums and watched him on television. I predate some of you enough that I remember him in the sixties when he first talked about Fat Albert, Russell, Weird Harold, and Dumb Donald.
You don’t remember these friends of Bill? You might have seen them on “Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids” in the seventies and eighties. Dumb Donald was the one who wore the stupid-looking stocking cap that covered his entire face. Many comedians use characters that are not intelligent.
This is a common tactic with writers of books and scripts. Tim Allen’s Tim the Toolman character in his stand-up comedy routines became the situation comedy “Home Improvement.” Allen played the bumbling, often imbecilic host of a local cable television show called “Tool Time.” His sponsor was Binford Tools; all of this is from the minds of Mr. Allen and his writers.
The point I want to make here is that we all have our times when we are not highly intelligent. Al Borland is Tim’s assistant on his tool episodes. Al is a qualified contractor and extinguishes his boss when he sets himself on fire, rescues him when he glues his head to a table, or helps him repair the house that he blew up with a clapper device.
The problem is that, like this pair, we all need someone to help us. Al may be an excellent carpenter and contractor, but he is boring, hence the name Borland, and a failure in relationships. Sometimes Tim sabotages his own marriage and must go to his neighbor, Wilson Wilson Jr., for advice.
With all his knowledge, we soon learn that Wilson also has his own flaws. He is not intelligent about everything, either. “Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids,” “Home Improvement,” and Tim Allen’s second series, “Last Man Standing,” all serve to educate us that we are all good at some things and really dumb at others.
Albert is obese, Russell is too timid and lets his older brother and others bully him, and Harold has his strange yet funny and endearing moments; these are what made that cartoon a classic, which became a live-action movie in 2004. Television and movies have many critics, but they can add to our knowledge and experience if we pay attention.
Think about what you watch and analyze what it can teach you. When “The Neighborhood” was first aired, we viewed it, and even though I thought Calvin Butler and his new friend Dave were both idiots in their own ways, they have spent the last few years teaching me more about friendship and race relations than most of us can grasp on our own.
In one of the early episodes, Marty, Calvin’s youngest son, makes a statement that blacks cannot be racists because they are racial. As you watch these shows, you see that Cedric the Entertainer and the cast and crew are pointing out to their audience that none of us knows as much as we think we do. To some extent, we are all Dumb Donalds.
Roger Miller wrote and recorded a song entitled “The King of the Road” in 1965. Jody Miller responded with “The Queen of the House” later that year. Miller’s King was what we called a hobo, and now is referred to as a transient or homeless. Jody’s character was a mother who cared for her husband and children and enjoyed the process.
At our house, we also have a queen who is named Essa, the cat. She has lived here for over a year and was royalty when we brought her home from the Humane Society. We called her a princess. Now she has claimed us, the house, and the dog, and acts like she owns the place and we are her servants.
When she first arrived, she was very timid, slunk around the house, and was afraid of Biscuit, the dog. She kept her belly close to the ground and was frightened at any sound. Now, she only runs when the Ring chime sounds and retreats to our bedroom, where she has her hidden holes.
Life is easy for her now since she seems to have been a stray from birth and does not like any humans other than my wife and I. We hope that she will eventually decide that our children and grandchildren are safe as well. It took months for her to accept us, and she saw us every day.
For those of you who have never had a cat, I need to tell you something that we have known for years. Dogs have owners, cats have staff, and Essa considers us her people. We feed her, play with her, and clean her litter box. When she hears us getting treats for Biscuit, she lets us know she wants hers as well.
In the mornings, it is play time and breakfast time, whether we are ready to get up or not. She always goes somewhere for her morning and afternoon naps and doesn’t care if we don’t know where she is. Bedtime is another activity time, and we must play the games that she wants.
She attacks the dog each time he comes in from outside, and sometimes, to get her away from the door to go out, he must chase her to another room. She does not care because she views it as play.
Pets are often called fur babies, and this is evident in the fact that they act like children. They want your attention even when you are busy and are jealous of everyone else in the house. Welcome to parenthood.
They make me think of Cindy and I as a couple. We are who we are, but sometimes it feels like I am a dog and she is a cat. She is the queen of the house, and I am here for her when she wants to play or just lie down and take a nap. Are you there for your spouse despite your differences?
“I was doing eighty on the highway because the Vice Principal said my second grader was caught “distributing contraband” in the cafeteria. I thought he had drugs. I was wrong. It was pepperoni.
I walked into the administrative office still wearing my work boots, drywall dust on my jeans. The secretary looked at me like I was going to track mud on her carpet. I didn’t care. I just wanted to see Leo.
I found him sitting on the “Cool Down Chair” in the corner of Vice Principal Miller’s office. He didn’t look scared. He didn’t look guilty. He looked confused. His hands were folded in his lap, and there was a smudge of tomato sauce on his chin.
“Mr. Russo, thank you for coming so quickly,” Mrs. Miller said. She was a nice enough woman, usually, but today she had the posture of a steel beam. “We have a zero-tolerance policy regarding the exchange of food items. It’s a liability issue. Allergies. Sanitary concerns. We simply cannot have students passing food around like… like it’s a free-for-all.”
She slid a discipline across the desk. Incident: Unauthorized distribution of lunch materials. Defiance of cafeteria protocol.
“He gave away his lunch?” I asked, looking at Leo. “That’s why I’m missing a half-day of pay? Because he gave away a slice of pizza?”
“It’s not just the pizza, Mr. Russo. It’s the defiance,” she sighed, adjusting her glasses. “The lunch monitor instructed Leo to keep his food to himself. He refused. He insisted on giving half to a classmate, Samuel. When told to stop, Leo argued with the monitor.”
I turned to my son. “Leo, buddy. Look at me. Why did you do that? You know you’re supposed to eat your own lunch.”
Leo looked up, his big brown eyes filled with frustration that seemed too heavy for a seven-year-old.
“Sam didn’t have a tray, Dad,” Leo said. His voice was small but steady.
“What do you mean?”
“It was Pizza Friday,” Leo explained, as if that explained everything. In elementary school, it basically did. “Sam got in line, but when he got to the register, the lady took his tray away. She threw the pizza in the trash bin behind her and gave him the cold cheese sandwich in the plastic bag. She said his account was ‘in the red.'”
I felt a tightening in my chest. I knew that term. I knew the ‘Cheese Sandwich of Shame.’ It happens when parents forget to load the lunch account or when money is tight.
“Sam started crying,” Leo continued. “He didn’t want the cold sandwich. He was hungry. So, I broke my pizza in half. I gave him the big piece.”
“And then?” I asked.
“Then the monitor came over and took it away from Sam. She threw that piece away, too. She said I was breaking the safety rules.” Leo pointed a small finger at the wall behind Mrs. Miller’s desk. “She said rules are rules.”
I looked where he was pointing.
Directly behind the Vice Principal’s head was a massive, laminated poster, decorated with bright primary colors and cartoon stars. It was the school’s motto for the year.
KINDNESS MATTERS.
Below it, in smaller print: In a world where you can be anything, be kind.
Leo looked at me, then at Mrs. Miller. “Dad, I’m confused. The poster is big. The rule book is small. I thought the big poster was the boss.”
The room went silent. The air conditioner hummed. Mrs. Miller opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked at the liability forms on her desk, then she turned around and looked at the poster she walked past every single morning.
The monitor said I was being bad,” Leo whispered. “But if I ate my pizza while Sam cried… wouldn’t that make me bad?”
Mrs. Miller took off her glasses. The corporate stiffness drained out of her shoulders. She was suddenly just a person in a room with a father and a son who had asked a question she couldn’t answer with a handbook.
“It’s a policy, Mr. Russo,” she said, her voice softer now, almost apologetic. “We have to protect the school from lawsuits. If Sam had an allergy…”
“Does Sam have an allergy?” I asked.
“No,” she admitted. “But we have to assume…”
“I know,” I cut her off. I stood up and pulled out my wallet. It was thin, but I had enough. “How much is Sam’s debt?”
“Excuse me?”
“Sam’s lunch account. How much is he in the red? Five bucks? Ten?”
“Mr. Russo, you don’t have to…”
“I know I don’t have to. I want to. How much?”
She typed for a second. “Four dollars and fifty cents.”
I pulled out a twenty. “Clear it. And put the rest on Sam’s account for next week. And if Leo gives him a slice of pizza again, please just… look the other way.”
I didn’t wait for the change. I signed the disciplinary slip—admitting my son was a “disturbance”—and walked out with Leo holding my hand.
We walked to the truck in silence. I buckled him in.
“Am I in trouble, Dad?” Leo asked, looking at his knees. “I promise I won’t do it again.”
I started the engine and turned to him.
“Leo, look at me.”
He looked up, bracing for the lecture.
“You are not in trouble,” I said firmly. “You did the right thing. The school has its rules, and they must follow them to keep their jobs. But you have a heart, and you have to follow that to keep your soul.”
“But they threw the pizza away,” he said sadly.
“I know. Sometimes doing the right thing makes a mess. Do it anyway.”
We stopped at a pizza place on the way home. I bought two large pepperoni pies. One for us, and one for Leo to take to school on Monday, just in case.
As I watched him eat, getting sauce all over his face again, I realized something terrifying.
We spend eighteen years trying to program our kids to fit into the system, to sit still, to stay in line, to follow the handbook. We teach them that “compliance” is the same thing as “goodness.” But today, my seven-year-old showed me that sometimes, you must break the rules to keep the promise on the wall.
Civilization isn’t built on handbooks and liability waivers. It’s built on breaking your pizza in half when your friend is hungry.
If that’s a punishable offense, then I hope my son stays a criminal for the rest of his life.”
I found this on Facebook, and it was not accredited by any author. This is why we should never accept the authorities that claim something as they see it. Rules and manuals are just that. Kindness is a law of God. I think we all need to follow it. If this is your story, please advise me and I will reassign the copyright when you provide proof of authorship.
What brings back memories? The parents of a lady in our church on Sunday started me remembering. This couple from Texas was visiting their daughter’s family for the birthday of a grandchild. Texas to Springfield, Missouri, does not seem like a great distance, but for working people, it can be. Memories of a mission trip to Houston, Texas, came back.
I was serving as interim youth minister when a new pastor and his family came to our church. This was in the early spring, and the youth leadership had not made any plans for a mission trip that summer. As we discussed possible locations for ministry, we were presented with a plan to go to Houston.
They had taken other groups in previous years and made contacts for us. As we made the preparations, I began having dreams about being at a church and seeing a young girl crossing the street. I saw a car coming down the street, and I ran out and grabbed her and threw her to the side of the road.
My youngest daughter was one of the youths on the trip. And I saw her crouching by me and crying each night just as I awoke. This continued for about two weeks before we left. When we arrived at the church where we would work that week, I recognized it as the building from the dream.
All week, I was watching the street anytime we were outside, and I scanned the kids to try to find that girl. I did not see her, and nothing happened. My first night back home, I awoke from another dream in which I saw the church again and a voice that said, “You watched to prevent someone else’s death, what about your own?”
I am sure you are wondering what this could mean. I knew immediately where this was coming from. I had been having blood in my stool for these three weeks from time to time. I had not told anyone about this, not even my wife. That morning, I told my wife I needed to make an appointment with my doctor to talk about the bleeding.
He recommended that I have a colonoscopy to be sure there were no problems. A few nights after the procedure, I received a call from the doctor. He had told us they had removed two polyps, and he told me that one was clear and the other had a few cancer cells in the head. After hanging up the phone, I started crying when I told this to my wife.
I have been cancer-free for about thirty years now. I have not shared this dream and my message from God with anyone in all that time. I know what most of you who have not had this type of experience will be thinking. I made this up. That’s why I’ve never told anyone. That is the exact reason I withheld that information.
There may be someone out there who is experiencing warning signs of disease that you are ignoring. Let me remind you of the story about the man who was a flood victim. He had a warning before the flood hit and ignored it. He said God will take care of him.
A boat came by later to pick him up, and he said that God would save him. As he was on the roof of the house, a helicopter came to his rescue, and once again, he declared God would save him. In Heaven, he asked God why He did not save him. The reply was, “I warned you, sent a boat and a helicopter. What more did you want?” Keep that in mind if you are ignoring warnings.
If at f”irst you don’t succeed, try, try, again.” is sage wisdom I have not always followed. It is usually easier to just give up. I have spent a number of attemps to log on to my computer tonight. God woke me up and won’t let me go back to sleep without writing my thoughts down. This is not an unusual experience for me
yesterdayI had the second of two cataract surgeries. When I AWAKE, MY intention was to write until my mind was clear and return to bed. I was told today before the surgery that I have a whole in the back of my left eye. We won’t know until it heals from the first surgerynifmitmcan benrepaired.
There is a distinct gap in mynvision, because my right eye has a patch on it that will be removed later today. Then I will be able to see better. It will be awhile before I can use my friends, the glasses, asmImhave for over fifty years. . I will add more to this later, but for now, I must go on to what awoke me.
That was many years ago. To show my problems, I have left those paragraphs as I typed them. You do not know how hard it is for me to publish this without editing. I want you to know where I was when I began this journey.
The hole in my vision is not imagined. It is literal. Let me step away from that analogy and step into a metaphor. We all have holes in our vision. There are things that we do not see, cannot see, and refuse to see. We will deal with these three topics in order.
I have no control over the things I can’t see. My blindness is caused by outside forces. It is like the hole in my eye. It happened gradually and not even my doctor saw it until the cataract was removed. Because it is not my fault, it does not mean I should not endeavor to correct it or work around this handicap. Paul of Tarsus refers to a thorn in his side that he had to work around. He asked God to remove it and heal him on three occasions with no results. His decision was to accept it as a gift and move on.
What is blocking your vision that you did not cause? Have people failed to advise you of needs? You can’t serve when the situation is unknown to you. Have you tried to solve a known situation with no success? This might be due to the person refusing aid or someone else blocking your assistance. If you have prayed and asked for wisdom in how to overcome these obstacles, it may not be you that is called to be of service.
This has happened to me, and I have not always used the wisdom Jehovah will give to me. Sometimes I refuse to ask for His guidance. Other times my ego is in the way. In some cases, I become angry with those who don’t want my assistance, and I fail to forgive. I must realize that I might not be as correct as I believe I am.
A comment to someone else with the abilities, skills, and time to serve may get the job done by another without me. In another situation, my resources may be needed, but not through me personally. If I don’t care who receives the glory, why do I have to be more than in the background?
I have often written about my eighteen years of teaching youth at Hamlin Church. Before that, I taught fifth and sixth-grade boys there, as well. I have been a children’s church director on two different occasions while at Hamlin. It has been my church home for over forty years.
My reason for this column is to thank all the men and women that I have had the pleasure of serving over the past fifty or more years as a leader in churches. I spent one summer in Pennsylvania and eighteen months in Joplin, MO, and the balance of this time here in Springfield, MO.
I can cite the names of some of the hundreds of kids and young people that I worked with as a leader, teacher, and minister. You are all my kids. I see some of you frequently, and some I have not visited in person for over fifty years. I’ll tell you about the recent ones.
There was Jason, Ryan, Mendy, Jody, Matt, Michael, Kara, Herschell, Kevin, Brandon, Gina, Cara, Stephanie, and others. I am so proud of all these individuals, as well as the ones that I have not seen for too many years. Some of them are doctors, nurses, teachers, ministers, businessmen and women, and in practically every profession you can imagine.
I cannot count the number of men and women that I have had the privilege of serving. I’ve been a teacher, friend, mentor, and supporter as they learned and grew. I’ve worked with their parents, grandparents, and families to encourage them to become the wonderful parents and grandparents they are today.
To say that I am proud of them is an understatement. My part was very minimal in their lives. They were under my tutelage for only a couple of years, but I have followed them as they have grown, been educated, married, and had children. Some are better known to me than others. All of them have made me proud to know them.
We have three daughters, three sons-in-law, and twelve grandchildren that I am also extremely proud of. My love for them is unbounded. My ministry is not over, and it will continue until my health restricts me or Jesus calls me home.
Charles (Chuck) Kensinger 