Sunday, April 2, 2006
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Feb. 12, 2006 -- Love of cars and racing begins early for boys and dads
It’s Pinewood Derby season.
To Cub Scouts that’s the equivalent of the Daytona 500.
I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know much about racing or cars in general, but I do enjoy helping kids build Pinewood Derby Cars.
I suppose I first felt the racing bug when I was about 8 years old.
We had just moved to town and I joined a Cub Scout group that met near the elementary school once a week.
Back in those days it was still OK for a third-grader to walk to school.
I’d walk three or four blocks, then a bunch of us would walk another mile or so to Mrs.
Williams’ home for the Cub Scout meeting.
Then I’d walk home.
As I remember it seemed like I did a lot of walking back then.
I’m sure it wasn’t because gas was expensive or anything like that.
In fact, I remember my dad complaining when it went above 50 cents per gallon.
“That old Rambler is getting too expensive to drive,” he’d say.
Dad was the kind of guy who bought new cars, took care of them and drove them until they finally died.
I remember him one time complaining that the only new car he could find for under $3,000 was a Chevy Vega.
He complained a lot about cars, now that I think about it.
But we kept that old brown twotone Rambler until it was replaced by a new Ford Country Squire wagon.
Man alive was it sweet.
Power windows, air conditioning, fold-down rear bed that turned into additional seating, and FM radio.
I’d help Dad change the oil and put air in the tires and stuff like that.
It was pretty cool to lift up that giant hood.
A little guy like me could practically sit inside that humungous engine compartment.
The Country Squire met its demise quite a few years later when some dumb teenage kid — me — wrecked it into some bushes off an icy road.
I screwed up the linkage and it was going to cost, like, $1,500 to repair.
Dad sold it to a friend from work for $1.
The Vega had quite a different end.
Dad drove it to work and back every day, but stopped on his way home for something or another — probably at the hardware store.
He was always stopping at the hardware store.
We had more sink washers and mismatched screw drivers than probably even the store itself.
Anyway, as Dad tells it he parked on the street next to the curb on a windy day when the limb from a giant old maple came crashing down on the car.
The insurance company said it didn’t cover acts of God.
So the Vega was replaced by a shiny new Ford Fairmont.
Dads and cars seem to go together.
That’s probably a chauvinistic thing to say, but some gender roles are pretty long lasting, I suppose.
When I brought that first Pinewood Derby car home, Dad said he’d help me with it.
Between the two of us we came up with a pretty strange looking car.
I didn’t have a pocketknife, so the whole thing was done with a steak knife I smuggled from the kitchen drawer.
Dad showed me how to wrap a piece of sandpaper around a block of wood to make it easier to take out the big scratches.
We drilled out the bottom, poured in some lead that we melted in a tuna can on the Coleman camp stove, then took the tiny car down to the post office to have it weighed.
After a week of tinkering with it, we had it to the regulation weight and ready to race.
It took first place and I took home a new pocketknife, and whole lot of respect for my dad.
He’s not driving anymore, but I heard my Mom bought a new car not too long ago after the last one finally gave out.
With four kids of my own, I’ve had pine shavings on my garage floor and old tuna cans sitting on my work bench for years.
My youngest joined Cubs this year, so it looks like I’ve got only a few more derby years left.
See you at the races.
David Kennard is the executive editor and publisher of the Troy Daily News. You can call him at 440-5228 or send him e-mail at kennard@tdnpublishing.com.
You can watch a Pinewood Derby race at 10 a.m. Saturday at the Miami Valley Centre Mall in Piqua.
To Cub Scouts that’s the equivalent of the Daytona 500.
I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know much about racing or cars in general, but I do enjoy helping kids build Pinewood Derby Cars.
I suppose I first felt the racing bug when I was about 8 years old.
We had just moved to town and I joined a Cub Scout group that met near the elementary school once a week.
Back in those days it was still OK for a third-grader to walk to school.
I’d walk three or four blocks, then a bunch of us would walk another mile or so to Mrs.
Williams’ home for the Cub Scout meeting.
Then I’d walk home.
As I remember it seemed like I did a lot of walking back then.
I’m sure it wasn’t because gas was expensive or anything like that.
In fact, I remember my dad complaining when it went above 50 cents per gallon.
“That old Rambler is getting too expensive to drive,” he’d say.
Dad was the kind of guy who bought new cars, took care of them and drove them until they finally died.
I remember him one time complaining that the only new car he could find for under $3,000 was a Chevy Vega.
He complained a lot about cars, now that I think about it.
But we kept that old brown twotone Rambler until it was replaced by a new Ford Country Squire wagon.
Man alive was it sweet.
Power windows, air conditioning, fold-down rear bed that turned into additional seating, and FM radio.
I’d help Dad change the oil and put air in the tires and stuff like that.
It was pretty cool to lift up that giant hood.
A little guy like me could practically sit inside that humungous engine compartment.
The Country Squire met its demise quite a few years later when some dumb teenage kid — me — wrecked it into some bushes off an icy road.
I screwed up the linkage and it was going to cost, like, $1,500 to repair.
Dad sold it to a friend from work for $1.
The Vega had quite a different end.
Dad drove it to work and back every day, but stopped on his way home for something or another — probably at the hardware store.
He was always stopping at the hardware store.
We had more sink washers and mismatched screw drivers than probably even the store itself.
Anyway, as Dad tells it he parked on the street next to the curb on a windy day when the limb from a giant old maple came crashing down on the car.
The insurance company said it didn’t cover acts of God.
So the Vega was replaced by a shiny new Ford Fairmont.
Dads and cars seem to go together.
That’s probably a chauvinistic thing to say, but some gender roles are pretty long lasting, I suppose.
When I brought that first Pinewood Derby car home, Dad said he’d help me with it.
Between the two of us we came up with a pretty strange looking car.
I didn’t have a pocketknife, so the whole thing was done with a steak knife I smuggled from the kitchen drawer.
Dad showed me how to wrap a piece of sandpaper around a block of wood to make it easier to take out the big scratches.
We drilled out the bottom, poured in some lead that we melted in a tuna can on the Coleman camp stove, then took the tiny car down to the post office to have it weighed.
After a week of tinkering with it, we had it to the regulation weight and ready to race.
It took first place and I took home a new pocketknife, and whole lot of respect for my dad.
He’s not driving anymore, but I heard my Mom bought a new car not too long ago after the last one finally gave out.
With four kids of my own, I’ve had pine shavings on my garage floor and old tuna cans sitting on my work bench for years.
My youngest joined Cubs this year, so it looks like I’ve got only a few more derby years left.
See you at the races.
David Kennard is the executive editor and publisher of the Troy Daily News. You can call him at 440-5228 or send him e-mail at kennard@tdnpublishing.com.
You can watch a Pinewood Derby race at 10 a.m. Saturday at the Miami Valley Centre Mall in Piqua.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Jan. 22, 2006 -- A community should be built on trust and friendship
There used to be a day when we knew our neighbors.
Maybe we had them over for barbecues, entertained their children or yelled at their dogs.
Our kids played army and hide-andseek and built tree forts from leftover lumber scavenged from dumpsters and freight yards.
The neighborhood was allowed to come into the backyard and jump on the trampoline.
We borrowed cups of sugar and tree trimmers.
The tomatoes from our gardens became salsa for the widow lady at church.
Our favorite lasagna recipe came from our buddy’s mother-in-law.
And it was always the best, maybe because we knew it had history and we knew where it came from.
Those days are gone.
We are no longer allowed to know what our neighbors are doing.
It’s none of our business.
We stay inside and watch movies on DVD.
The game we used to watch in our friends’ basement is now recorded on TiVo so we can stay at home and send e-mail and text messages on the computer.
Our children walk around with hand-held games.
Cell phones are banned at school.
MP3 players have to be locked up when we go to the club.
The other day, as I was coming out of the movie theater with my wife, I saw two young people, obviously on a date.
Each was talking on a cell phone — probably to somebody else, although it wouldn’t surprise me if they were talking to each other.
When I was a kid, only rich people had a “private” telephone line.
The rest of us shared a party line, sometimes with as many as six other homes.
If we wanted to make a call, we always had to wait.
And usually we listened in.
It was just kind of an accepted fact that whatever you said on the phone was probably going to be heard by somebody you probably didn’t know.
Successful communities, communities just like Troy, Ohio, U.S.A., or anywhere else in this great country, are built on friendship and trust.
It takes a lot of other things as well, but friendship and trust are the key ingredients to making a community work.
I enjoy walking into Marsh and having people say hello to me.
I enjoy watching an out-of-focus movie at the Mayflower and chatting to other people in the theater while it gets fixed.
It’s enjoyable to chat with the guy at the hardware store or the waitress at Frisch’s or the mailman when he comes by in the afternoon.
There seems to a movement to withdraw from the people we love and trust, our neighbors and friends.
I understand that in this world of changing technologies, wireless communication, Internet banking and electronic identification that we should be concerned about our security.
Identity theft is a real problem, but it’s a product of a community that doesn’t know each other.
Are we concerned that Big Brother is watching over us because we are doing something wrong? I’m not suggesting we turn our lives over to the G-men or compromise any rights, but for heaven’s sake, let’s stop the paranoia.
It’s no way to live.
Sure, we all have things we need to hide and keep secure.
But we cannot live in a community where trust and friendship are no longer important.
I hear nothing but complaints from people who are angry that an Internet company wants to know the details of our lives, that the government is spying on us, that our privacy has been invaded — then I see people who stand in the checkout lane with a cell phone and argue with their wife for all to hear.
We celebrate when the FBI or CIA discovers a terrorist plot, but we complain that they’re listening in on our conversations.
Guess what, that’s what we asked our government to do, that’s what they’ve always done.
It’s the job of our elected officials and the agencies they set up to keep us safe and moving forward.
When a police officer drives by, do you feel like he’s watching you or do you wave and say hello? Let’s not go overboard with this right-to-privacy dogma or pretty soon we’ll find ourselves alone, wondering who’s watching us.
David Kennard is the publisher and editor of the Troy Daily News. You can send him e-mail at Kennard@tdnpublishing.com.
Maybe we had them over for barbecues, entertained their children or yelled at their dogs.
Our kids played army and hide-andseek and built tree forts from leftover lumber scavenged from dumpsters and freight yards.
The neighborhood was allowed to come into the backyard and jump on the trampoline.
We borrowed cups of sugar and tree trimmers.
The tomatoes from our gardens became salsa for the widow lady at church.
Our favorite lasagna recipe came from our buddy’s mother-in-law.
And it was always the best, maybe because we knew it had history and we knew where it came from.
Those days are gone.
We are no longer allowed to know what our neighbors are doing.
It’s none of our business.
We stay inside and watch movies on DVD.
The game we used to watch in our friends’ basement is now recorded on TiVo so we can stay at home and send e-mail and text messages on the computer.
Our children walk around with hand-held games.
Cell phones are banned at school.
MP3 players have to be locked up when we go to the club.
The other day, as I was coming out of the movie theater with my wife, I saw two young people, obviously on a date.
Each was talking on a cell phone — probably to somebody else, although it wouldn’t surprise me if they were talking to each other.
When I was a kid, only rich people had a “private” telephone line.
The rest of us shared a party line, sometimes with as many as six other homes.
If we wanted to make a call, we always had to wait.
And usually we listened in.
It was just kind of an accepted fact that whatever you said on the phone was probably going to be heard by somebody you probably didn’t know.
Successful communities, communities just like Troy, Ohio, U.S.A., or anywhere else in this great country, are built on friendship and trust.
It takes a lot of other things as well, but friendship and trust are the key ingredients to making a community work.
I enjoy walking into Marsh and having people say hello to me.
I enjoy watching an out-of-focus movie at the Mayflower and chatting to other people in the theater while it gets fixed.
It’s enjoyable to chat with the guy at the hardware store or the waitress at Frisch’s or the mailman when he comes by in the afternoon.
There seems to a movement to withdraw from the people we love and trust, our neighbors and friends.
I understand that in this world of changing technologies, wireless communication, Internet banking and electronic identification that we should be concerned about our security.
Identity theft is a real problem, but it’s a product of a community that doesn’t know each other.
Are we concerned that Big Brother is watching over us because we are doing something wrong? I’m not suggesting we turn our lives over to the G-men or compromise any rights, but for heaven’s sake, let’s stop the paranoia.
It’s no way to live.
Sure, we all have things we need to hide and keep secure.
But we cannot live in a community where trust and friendship are no longer important.
I hear nothing but complaints from people who are angry that an Internet company wants to know the details of our lives, that the government is spying on us, that our privacy has been invaded — then I see people who stand in the checkout lane with a cell phone and argue with their wife for all to hear.
We celebrate when the FBI or CIA discovers a terrorist plot, but we complain that they’re listening in on our conversations.
Guess what, that’s what we asked our government to do, that’s what they’ve always done.
It’s the job of our elected officials and the agencies they set up to keep us safe and moving forward.
When a police officer drives by, do you feel like he’s watching you or do you wave and say hello? Let’s not go overboard with this right-to-privacy dogma or pretty soon we’ll find ourselves alone, wondering who’s watching us.
David Kennard is the publisher and editor of the Troy Daily News. You can send him e-mail at Kennard@tdnpublishing.com.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Dec. 25, 2005 -- Today is a day of tradition that began 2,000 years ago
The crowds of people were everywhere that busy day in Bethlehem.
Vendors shouted from the corner stores, selling wares and food items to the people making their way through the streets in the city of David.
A governmental order had been sent out for all the people to be counted to determine the tax for Caesar Augustus, the Roman Emperor.
The day was mild.
The sun was shining.
Flocks of sheep and goats grazed in the field around the city.
Mary and Joseph were recently married and were living in Galilee, where Joseph worked as a carpenter.
They were humble people who made their way to Bethlehem on a donkey, but the trip was slow going as Mary was about to deliver her first child.
A child she knew had a future that she had been told would change the world.
For now, though, she was as uncomfortable as any expectant mother.
Her husband, Joseph, had been patient during the trek, but was anxious to get into the city to find a room for the night.
There were no rooms to be found.
The tired couple finally found a place to rest in a small grotto, a barn of sorts.
Among the animals, they found a quiet place for the mother to deliver her child, by herself in a strange city with only her husband to help.
“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger,” according to Luke in the New Testament.
Mary and Joseph stayed in Bethlehem for several days as they finished their business, but they soon found that the birth of the baby Jesus sparked great interest.
The Apostle Luke said, “there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
… (when) the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them.” “Fear not,” the angel said.
“I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.” Luke says “suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’” Curious, the shepherds, who witnessed what could only be described as a miracle, went into the city to find the baby “lying in a manger.
And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child,” according to Luke.
News of the birth soon spread throughout the area.
One family telling another until many people, even those in influential office, heard about the birth of the new king.
From that eventful day until today, the story of Christ’s birth in that crowded city, under the watch of simple animals, has been carried to people throughout the world.
From the time I was a child, Christmas was a day Dad didn’t have to work.
Together with my brother and sisters, we helped Mom in the kitchen.
We opened our gifts, took silly pictures and wondered why batteries were not included in all our electronic toys.
We knew Santa had been there because the cookies had bites out of them and the milk was gone.
Santa’s gifts were never wrapped and our stockings were always filled with strange things that could never have been purchased in local stores.
The TV stayed off until well into the afternoon and the house was filled with torn wrapping paper, plastic boxes, Styrofoam and the smell of ham.
It was a wonderful time.
It still is today as I enjoy the same Christmas traditions with my own family.
All across our county and even around the world, today is a day of tradition that began more than 2,000 years ago when a husband and wife gathered to wonder at the gift they received in the form of a tiny baby.
Today we celebrate Christ’s birth by gathering as friends and family, giving gifts to each other in the tradition of the season.
Whether you’re a Christian or non- Christian, an agnostic or atheist; whether you give tidings of Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays or Season’s Greetings; whether you sing hymns in church or watch football on TV on Sundays, today is a day to turn our focus on the spirit of the season.
Merry Christmas.
David Kennard is the editor and publisher of the Troy Daily News.
You can send him e-mail at Kennard@tdnpublishing.com.
Vendors shouted from the corner stores, selling wares and food items to the people making their way through the streets in the city of David.
A governmental order had been sent out for all the people to be counted to determine the tax for Caesar Augustus, the Roman Emperor.
The day was mild.
The sun was shining.
Flocks of sheep and goats grazed in the field around the city.
Mary and Joseph were recently married and were living in Galilee, where Joseph worked as a carpenter.
They were humble people who made their way to Bethlehem on a donkey, but the trip was slow going as Mary was about to deliver her first child.
A child she knew had a future that she had been told would change the world.
For now, though, she was as uncomfortable as any expectant mother.
Her husband, Joseph, had been patient during the trek, but was anxious to get into the city to find a room for the night.
There were no rooms to be found.
The tired couple finally found a place to rest in a small grotto, a barn of sorts.
Among the animals, they found a quiet place for the mother to deliver her child, by herself in a strange city with only her husband to help.
“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger,” according to Luke in the New Testament.
Mary and Joseph stayed in Bethlehem for several days as they finished their business, but they soon found that the birth of the baby Jesus sparked great interest.
The Apostle Luke said, “there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
… (when) the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them.” “Fear not,” the angel said.
“I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.” Luke says “suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.’” Curious, the shepherds, who witnessed what could only be described as a miracle, went into the city to find the baby “lying in a manger.
And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child,” according to Luke.
News of the birth soon spread throughout the area.
One family telling another until many people, even those in influential office, heard about the birth of the new king.
From that eventful day until today, the story of Christ’s birth in that crowded city, under the watch of simple animals, has been carried to people throughout the world.
From the time I was a child, Christmas was a day Dad didn’t have to work.
Together with my brother and sisters, we helped Mom in the kitchen.
We opened our gifts, took silly pictures and wondered why batteries were not included in all our electronic toys.
We knew Santa had been there because the cookies had bites out of them and the milk was gone.
Santa’s gifts were never wrapped and our stockings were always filled with strange things that could never have been purchased in local stores.
The TV stayed off until well into the afternoon and the house was filled with torn wrapping paper, plastic boxes, Styrofoam and the smell of ham.
It was a wonderful time.
It still is today as I enjoy the same Christmas traditions with my own family.
All across our county and even around the world, today is a day of tradition that began more than 2,000 years ago when a husband and wife gathered to wonder at the gift they received in the form of a tiny baby.
Today we celebrate Christ’s birth by gathering as friends and family, giving gifts to each other in the tradition of the season.
Whether you’re a Christian or non- Christian, an agnostic or atheist; whether you give tidings of Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays or Season’s Greetings; whether you sing hymns in church or watch football on TV on Sundays, today is a day to turn our focus on the spirit of the season.
Merry Christmas.
David Kennard is the editor and publisher of the Troy Daily News.
You can send him e-mail at Kennard@tdnpublishing.com.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Sunday, February 1, 2004
Sunday, February 2, 2003
Saturday, July 1, 2000
Friday, April 21, 2000
Thursday, August 12, 1999
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