I've had a few friends named Kenny throughout my life. The first one was actually Robert Kinney and he was my cousin. We hung out and did boy stuff in the woods south of Conroe, Texas. Forts, Cub Scouts, building bridges over creeks, real floating rafts, even underground domiciles replete with Dentler's Potato Chip tins full of chips and magazines I can't mention here. Sometimes we went to my dad's sawmill and slid down the shavings pile. It was always fun, but you went home with little pine shavings in your hair and sap in your crack. Cleaning up was no fun, but the ride was worth it.
My next Kenny was Kenny Kelly from freshman year in high school. That was in Austin, Texas. It was a whole new ecosystem from my upbringing in the piney woods and I liked it a LOT. I'm not sure why. But when we got to Austin in my 12th year, I felt like I was home. Haven't lived too far from here for long since. So, Kenny and I sang together in high school choir. We were both really good singers and got away with things the other kids didn't. Because we knew we were good. God bless those of you that were there. The arrogance must have been awful to be around. Oh, well...Kenny played double bass in the orchestra and together we sang first tenor lines in music that was way over our heads. But somehow we did it. We made it through music theory, too. There were days I would just fuzz out listening to Dr.Watkins as he espoused the intricacies of music theory. But by the end of the lecture, I had somehow made sense of it. I've used the word "somehow" too much the past couple of sentences, but it seems to fit "somehow". So Kenny and I had some experiences together that I can write about and some I can't. Choir trips to great places, crushes on the same girls, and a carefree life that I'm jealous of today. Those were fun, formative, and unforgettable times.
My last friend, Kenny, is a writer and a teacher. He says he mows yards today to pay the bills, but what he is is a writer. He is a crafter of words and thoughts. He moves me. I can't read one of his pieces without crying. It's as if he knows just how and when to pull the tears out of their ducts with the perfect image and expression. I love reading his stuff. One of my old fave Christian artists is a guy named Bryan Duncan. One of his songs used to say, "Blessed are the tears that fall. They clean the windows of my soul...and usher in a change of heart, that brings a joy that Angels know." He's right. I am changed in those tearful moments as the streaks from days of emotional struggle are washed clean and the glass shines again, letting in the sunlight of the Spirit. I always wanna say thank you to my friend Kenny every time I read his stuff. Thank you, Kenny.
