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.
The only name you may recognize in this list is the Waltons. Earl Hamner, Jr. created this TV series that first aired in 1972. I graduated from high school in May of that year. The first episode of the Waltons aired on CBS television on September fourteenth of that year. You can say that my adult life began with this creation of Mr. Hamner.
This was not the first incarnation of this story by the author. “Spencer’s Mountain” was first published in 1961. He had begun his writing career as a script writer. His first short play that was produced was “The Hound of Heaven” that aired January 15, 1953, on The Kate Smith Show.
Spencer’s Mountain became a movie in 1963 starring Henry Fonda and Maureen O’Hara. The plots are similar. The characters are familiar from the Waltons series. This book was the story that John Boy wrote about his family. As writers, we are told to write what we know.
The character John Boy in the original book and movie was named Clay Boy after his father Clay Spenser, Sr. This makes me wonder if Earl Hamner, Jr., was called Earl Boy when he was growing up. He was the first one in a large family to go to college and become a writer.
Most of The Walton episodes were not written by Hamner. He was the Executive Producer and had final say on the scripts. While every story was not his he did make sure they were true to his concept of who his family was. As always, literary licenses were issued as needed.
Many of Hamner’s personal beliefs appear in these episodes. He was constantly exposing problems to those who were trying to take advantage of others. The Ballwin sisters, who were bootleggers, even though they did not know it, were not viewed as criminals. Blacks and orphans were seen as being oppressed.
Walton’s view of World War II was very much the way my mother remembered things as she was growing up at that time. Walton’s was a favorite of hers. She shared with me that many of the news reports of things that were occurring in Europe were viewed with doubt by her family as well.
Many of the story lines resonated with me. John Jr. wanted to be a writer and went to college to study. He was always writing a story or book. The season he purchased an old press and published his own newspaper was especially interesting to me.
The idea of living with grandparents was not that familiar and I was used to having two brothers and a sister at home. I sympathized with the Walton children when they wished they were only children. The different interests and occupations the family chose were as varied as my own. The main variation was that no one in my family became a musician or nurse.
My columns do follow a similar tack that John Boy followed by writing about the family and those things that happened to them. If you are like me and wish that the producers would come up with more family programming like this, at least with our current technology, we can watch these older shows on our streaming services. Happy watching, and I’ll share others that I have watched when they were new.
Have you ever seen this TV series from 2007 to 2012? I am going to tell you something that has never been published anywhere before now. This story is about me. It has been altered greatly from my true original story. I did not go to Stanford University or work as a computer nerd.
I do not know Chris Fedak or Josh Schwartz who are the creators of this show. How they were able to link this fictional tale to my name is beyond me. I do not want any royalties or profit from their scripts. Titles cannot be copy written and I have no claim against anyone for infringing upon my privacy.
Why do I say this series was based on my life? First it is my name. Then there is the beautiful woman that I am married to. The character of Sarah Walker and Cindy do not have the same hair color. Cindy has never worked for the CIA and the way we met was completely different from what the series shows.
My best friend at the time ended up being my best man at our wedding and surprisingly, they got the part correct that we worked together. They also got it right that I have a sister. They did leave out my two brothers. Neither of my parents were spies and they were at our wedding as well.
They also got it correct that I did not finish at the university where I started my degree program. However, I was not expelled, I transferred and did receive my diploma from another college. I also never let my girlfriend drive my company car, so she never wrecked it. I played video games but not much after Cindy and I began dating. As I recall, neither did Chuck after he met Sarah.
That is another way that the writers hit my story head on. I know that if they tried to stay closer to my real life it would have been boring. I am just glad that they did not make it a situation comedy. The dramedy genre was a much more flattering format.
I can just see if they had titled it everybody loves Chuck or according to Chuck. All the crazy stuff my brothers and sister and I did would not have been half as interesting as the scripts for those two shows. I do wish that one of the characters in M.A.S.H., the Waltons, or Dr. Quinn Medicine woman had been Chuck or Cindy. In that case the show I claimed as ours would have lasted a lot longer.
Is there a show that you wish you could claim was about your life? Comment below and tell me the similarities and the differences in yours. If no one comments I will know that I am still a unique individual. Happy watching.
Once again, I am up early. It is Sunday morning. The radio clock will come on in a few minutes. Cindy will start to arouse sometime after that and begin to get ready for church. When I got up, Essa, the cat, was all over me in bed. My brain was full of thoughts, and I was having trouble getting back to sleep.
So, I got up. This is my writing process. I know that many professional writers use different techniques from mine. Let’s establish this first. I am not now, and never have made my living from my writing. I write because I have a brain, and my way of exercising it is to express the things that enter my head in a printed form.
Someday this column may appear in some part of a book, if I choose to add it to one. That’s also part of my process. I will get up in a minute and let Biscuit, our dog, go outside to do his business. I am not one of those writers who can go into my office, lock the door, and spend hours at the keyboard.
I have a life like most of you. Does it bother you when you read a book on writing and the author tells you that you must spend a set amount of time alone without distractions? It does me. I’ve never been able to do that. I’ve always had a family. Cindy, the girls, and the animals come first. Then I can write when I have a few minutes.
Currently, I have about seven of these columns in a queue to be published on Doiloigroup.org on a certain date. I’ve developed this technique over the years I have published these columns. There are over a hundred columns and at least seven or more books in various files on this computer.
Let me revise those numbers. These files may be well into the hundreds. They are not all on this laptop. Some are on paper, a separate hard drive, or in notebooks I used before I had a computer. When I have time, I review these ideas wherever I have them. That is also part of my process.
Yes, it is an eclectic or odd way of doing this thing we call writing. I’ve been a writer for over sixty years. I learned to put letters together to form words, and then sentences, paragraphs, and articles. These have sometimes been put into books. You can read these books as I put them together in my premium materials. That will cost you money to see. Why? Because I want to know how serious you are about reading and learning from me.
As I asked God what He wanted me to do, He explained that my ministry in the business world is now over. He wants that service to be translated back into my career as an author. My books will not be published by traditional companies. So He had me start Douloigroup.org.
Other authors do not want you to see how hard it is for them to create. I want you to realize that it is not easy for any of us to do this thing we call writing. I told you I would be interrupted and must come back. I was wrong because, at this point, I have been composing these words for almost thirty minutes.
This is unusual for me. I wrote this column to encourage those of you with busy lives who have delayed calling yourselves writers because you have not yet been published. Not all of us need to have books printed. I decided years ago to just write and publish when I could, and now, I do. Try it, you’ll like it.
Thank God. I get tired of the fall, Christmas, and New Year’s onslaught of NFL and college games. I do not like sports of any kind. I know most of you do not understand that. I do not get why some of you would rather watch TV or movies and never read a book. To me, that is crazy.
I am also tired of Christmas movies at this time of year. If I wanted to see a Christmas rom-com, I have a streaming service and can watch it there. I subscribe to the company I am with to receive specific types of programming. No news, no sports, and many channels that do not offer the latest movies and TV.
We like reruns. We also like new movies and programming from certain channels that are more Christian oriented that the typical providers. We like Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, and The Waltons, and we want family shows of that type.
Another one that we enjoy is Seventh Heaven. Hallmark, MeTV, Cozy, and Great American Family, where is it? Is it too expensive to purchase? I get that. I see it available for purchase on Amazon. It just isn’t one of the freebies, and we are frugal.
So, at this moment, it is Sunday afternoon, February 8, 2026, and the TV is not on. Later, when the Olympics or the Stupid Bowl is on, we will watch something else. We also have a library of Blu-ray and DVD discs to choose from. We might just watch Fraggle Rock. We have the entire Jim Henson series.
The commercial that has the line “Last call for football” is another type of ad I would like to see removed from my channels. Sports gambling is now legal in Missouri. I am sick of Kevin Hart. One syndicate uses him, and the scripts they give him make him look like an insensitive idiot. I know that is one type of character that he portrays.
I hope they paid him enough money for that so that he never needs to work again, because it will be a long time before I will pay to see him in anything. I think these spots are hurting his career, not helping it.
But what do I know? I took a job because I thought God wanted me to, and I ended up unemployed for three years because they lied about me to other companies. How do I know that? In every position I was considered for until I dropped them from my resume, I did not receive an offer. As soon as I left them off the list and made it look like I was working through a temp agency at that time, I got the next job.
Not everything you do is good for you. You can still learn something from everything you do. Maybe even watching football or Christmas movies in February. Whatever floats your boat. Just don’t invite me to your party. I will politely decline.
As a writer, this was my right arm when I was taking journalism in high school. I started journalism classes in my junior year. To be ready, I took typing in my sophomore year. I knew I had to be able to compose a story while at the machine.
If you are not aware of what this contraption is, let me explain. Before computers, word processors, and smartphones, people used typewriters to type messages, letters, or other documents. You put a sheet of paper, like copy paper, onto a roll and type on a QWERTY-style keyboard.
Is that something else you do not understand? Computer keypads typically feature the QWERTY layout, with the first letters on the top line. That is the same as a typewriter. Most cell phones have the same onscreen configuration for typing messages. There are many things that we had to do back then that are not needed now.
I did not double-space at the end of each sentence now. It has taken me years to learn not to do that anymore. Over thirty years of writing takes a while to change habits. Another practice that I have not suspended is the -30- at the end of each article. I still end each column or story with that designation. I’ll show you what I mean at the end of this page.
Another thing we did was hit the return twice after each paragraph. I am happy that I do not need to load the paper onto that roll. One more blessing is the elimination of an eraser or whiteout to make corrections. Have you never used correction fluid? It is liquid paper in a bottle with a tiny brush inside the cap to block out ink on the page.
It was an essential office supply for my first thirty years in business. I was one of the few, the proud, purchasing agents who typed their own purchase orders and letters. Secretaries knew how to do this for most of us men in business. That was what my wife did for years in different companies.
I enjoy the fact that I can change manuscripts in many ways before putting them on a page. One beautiful thing about computers and phones is the ability to edit. Apps give features to add graphics, edit text, and even create videos. You will notice that these stories have videos or images that add to what I have written. I love adding songs or clips to illustrate what my article is about.
Technology is great. I am fortunate to have been one of those to grow up without digital media. When these devices fail, we know how to use other systems as a backup. I can dial a phone, write on paper, or even walk into a warehouse to check stock. This was what I did fifty years ago. I have not forgotten how to do these things.
Progress is wonderful. Knowing how to do it the old-fashioned way may someday come in handy. Read any modern dystopian science fiction story, and you will see a world where the only ones who survive are those who can live without our modern comforts. Even knowing how to move an outhouse every few weeks might be a skill we need. What is an outhouse? That is another column, or ask your granddad.
Charles (Chuck) Kensinger 