Remembering Uncle Kenny

On the day after Thanksgiving, my Uncle Kenny died.  He died at home with his two gals - my cousin Sam and my Aunt Janet - at his side.  Loss is never easy but I believe that to be present with someone when they transition from this life to whatever is next is in some ways a gift.

My uncle didn't say much, but when he did, it was usually spot on and funny.  And he always had nice things to say about my dad.  I remember him as generous with his time.   I spent the last half of my senior year of high school living with my grandparents.  I had had enough of the oppressive environment I grew up with in my mother's house.  As an 18 year old, I was very keen to get my driver's license.  Since my dad and step-mom didn't live close enough to take me out everyday and my grandparents were smart enough to have other things to do, Uncle Kenny stepped in.   He took me out driving and taught me to parallel park so that I could take my driver's test in the spring of 1985. He didn't have to, but he did.  This may not seem like a big deal, but to me - by spending that time with me, he gave me the one thing that was missing in my life at that point.  My freedom.  It was one of the most significant gifts anyone has ever given me.

I also remember him as a loving dad and husband.  Sam was the light of his life - he called her Cat.  And even though he was very sick at the end of his life, my Aunt Janet and her health and comfort as she dealt with a genetic lung defect and successful lung transplant, were first on his mind.

It doesn't take fame or fortune to leave a mark in this world.  Rather, what you say when you do talk and the small and large ways you impact the people around you mean much more as a legacy. 

I am reminded of a quote by Emerson that I keep on my desk:

To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends.
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition.
To know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. 

RIP Uncle Kenny.  RIP.

Spelling Freak

Okay.  I admit it.  I am a bit of a freak about spelling.  I cringe when I see e-mail messages that contain mistakes.  I work with someone who sends e-mails on a daily basis with missing words, misspellings, and incomplete thoughts.  I have actually hidden people from my FaceBook feed because I can't stand to read their posts full of misspellings.  I just got into another heated debate with my son who insists that the mistakes in his spelling homework do not matter.

One of my biggest beefs with Montgomery County Schools is the way that they teach spelling.  From kindergarten through second grade a concept called "creative spelling" is in place.  It rewards attempts at spelling.  The problem is that spelling is not creative.  There is one way to spell a word.  It is either correct or it isn't.  They do not drill on spelling words anymore.  Call me old-fashioned, but I think drilling - either verbally or written - is a key to building strong spelling skills.

I was dismayed to hear an educator at my son's school tell me that the most important thing was for my son to get his ideas on paper because things like grammar and spell check would help fill in the holes.  Those were not his exact words but the meaning was clear.  I don't disagree that good writing is a multi-step process but correct spelling has to be part of that prosess - oops! I mean process.

Peace.