That was my Kenny. He was in my second grade class. Sweet. Hard-working. “Slow.” His dad was an artist by profession and helped him (see: did for him with his best efforts at participating) with projects. I remember the way he walked on his toes, his heels never quite touching the ground as if skeptical of it. His brown doe eyes. Daniel’s was a gentle soul. I was generally kind to him and tried to befriend him. We’d play tether ball or pick dandelions at recess. I didn’t participate in bullying him, which is no virtue really; many didn’t. But on a particular day somebody made fun of him. I don’t remember what the joke was, but it was at Daniel’s expense. I laughed.
The pain of betrayal made his doe eyes well, and I’ll never forget his face in that moment. We played many times after that but that look he gave me is permanently burnt into my memory and haunted me for many years. I can’t remember if the Pachecos moved or what, I just know I lost contact and have been unable to find him.
I’m sorry for the loss of Kenny, but thank God you met him and that you were kind to him when you did. “A cup of cold water in My name...”
Thank you for the kind words concerning my review; I'm very glad you enjoyed it. It was challenging to convey my complicated feelings on intelligence--and society's perverse obsession with it--but it means a lot to read that my attempt met with at least some modicum of success : )
I am even more humbled that my meager ruminations over a movie about a talking racoon could in some small way contribute to this extraordinary article. I got choked up reading about you getting choked up staring at that convenience store facade! So much of what you wrote really resonated with me; frankly, it sounds like we had some similar "Good Will Hunting"-style experiences haha. And speaking of "Celeano," I can still remember skipping lunch in high school to sneak off to the library and read the (in retrospect, quite surprisingly--and serendipitously--stocked) S.T. Joshi works on my beloved Lovecraft.
I could ramble on at length about all of the eloquent points you made in your post (as anyone who has made it through my novel-length review of GotG 3 can attest to), but suffice it to say thank you for sharing your insight and for keeping Kenny's memory alive. I believe you did a great thing in giving him that glass of water that day and a great thing in telling his story here. And if anyone disagrees, I'd point them to the Good Book itself:
Matthew 25: 34-40
Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
The Bible reference is one of a few I had in mind. I also thought of the Living Water (the icon) and a few others.
As for the Library of Celaeno, I have the reference both through August Derleth and the Chaosium Call of Cthulhu tabletop RPG I used to play. There was a stray reference in one section of the rules to a “haunted library of Celaeno,” which stuck with me, the idea of a library full of ghosts orbiting a star in deep space. I built on that in the about section of my profile. I feel very much that I live in a haunted library in my actual life, so the nom de plume seemed appropriate.
Call of Cthulhu was a lot of fun. Nothing beats pretending to be some intrepid, 1920s academic exploring remote ruins, battling sinister cults, and uncovering esoteric tomes... only to catch a glimpse of Yog-Sothoth and have your head explode haha
This really drives home how pride and being “above” other people is awful and doesn’t matter. In all of our lived Kenny doesn’t have to be someone mentally challenged—he could just be someone open, earnest, and honest, and too good for this world. Indeed, friends to all. May we all learn from them, and may all such Kennys get the rewards they deserved.
The greatest challenge in life is to make the most out of God's gifts without losing sight of the reason those gifts were first bestowed. Thank you for the thought-provoking post.
Beautiful and sad story. My son Nicolas was profoundly intellectually disabled. He taught our whole family about love. He died at age 20 in 2018 and we were devastated. The only initial consolation was that his pure soul had never known sin and so we knew that he was in the arms of Jesus. I adore the icon of Jesus at the well!
Thank you for the kind words. I am sorry for your loss and I agree with your sentiments. I think about the passage where Christ reminds us that we must be like children to enter His kingdom.
Thank you for that moving story and to all the heartfelt comments.
The story actually reminds me of a film I saw ages ago called ( I think) “the Last Picture Show”. An intellectually disabled boy who is always sweeping with his broom is hit and killed by a truck. I seem to remember that most people thought it didn’t really matter much because he himself didn’t matter
People can be heartless. I remember when Nicolas was being treated for acne. His biological aunt ( my SIL) asked me why I bothered, since it didn’t matter what he looked like.
In a sense I'm sure she didn't intend, she was right. The world is full of flawless bodies that are whitened sepulchers. Treating his acne was an act of love and having clearer skin no doubt helped him, but the beauty he gave the world only passed through his face. It emanated from within.
What a beautiful tribute to Kenny that you can share this story with us. I could also comment on the gorgeous literary style of this essay, but that seems trite when the story itself is so moving. Thank you for trusting your readers with this piece of your heart.
I was redirected here from your recent article, and your writing truly does allow your humanity to shine through. It's strange, but I found myself drawing parallels to Flowers for Algernon--Charles Gordon's reference to his past "slow" self as an individual who "would've given you his last slice of bread" always stuck with me. I suppose it was the dichotomy between childlike kindness and incisive intelligence (and how the former is often valued in a eulogy) that I saw again in this article.
There is a societal fixation towards traits that allow for expedient pathways, even outside the context of how the "slow" are treated. Earnestness/gentleness/"goodness" is esoterically valued through afterthoughts and eulogies (our thoughts compartmentalized into emotions of pity), something like intelligence is valued as a tool towards academic/vocational success, as opposed to an avenue towards helping those around oneself.
I digress, but this was truly a poignant account of Kenny that crushed me in an edifying manner. Thank you for writing this unflinching and reflective account of your experiences.
Thank you for writing this. I'm not sure if I remember the quote very accurately, nor do I have any idea where it's from, but I once heard someone say that people like this are put in the world as they are for our sakes. As another commenter here said, they teach us how to love.
I am so deeply filled with regret over how I viewed some of the mentally/developmentally disabled kids in my middle school. I never bullied them, never even interacted with them, except when I was forced to. I just remember being generally annoyed with them because they would have outbursts at times or smell bad. I viewed them as at best not important; at worst lesser than me. Because they weren't smart or attractive. Shame on me, and shame on our society for valuing these things above all else. I think it is good that we thank God for these people, because they truly are gifts to the world. And we will be judged by how we treated the least of these.
" I just stared at the ugly front wall of that convenience store, choking up."
Not that you need me or anyone to offer you any literary critique on this, but I wish you'd ended this piece at that line. It would have made this salute to Kenny perfect.
Thank you for this lovely tribute. I think you should send it to the woman at the college and thank her and ask her for her help in getting into a program.
Daniel Pacheco.
That was my Kenny. He was in my second grade class. Sweet. Hard-working. “Slow.” His dad was an artist by profession and helped him (see: did for him with his best efforts at participating) with projects. I remember the way he walked on his toes, his heels never quite touching the ground as if skeptical of it. His brown doe eyes. Daniel’s was a gentle soul. I was generally kind to him and tried to befriend him. We’d play tether ball or pick dandelions at recess. I didn’t participate in bullying him, which is no virtue really; many didn’t. But on a particular day somebody made fun of him. I don’t remember what the joke was, but it was at Daniel’s expense. I laughed.
The pain of betrayal made his doe eyes well, and I’ll never forget his face in that moment. We played many times after that but that look he gave me is permanently burnt into my memory and haunted me for many years. I can’t remember if the Pachecos moved or what, I just know I lost contact and have been unable to find him.
I’m sorry for the loss of Kenny, but thank God you met him and that you were kind to him when you did. “A cup of cold water in My name...”
Thank you for the kind words concerning my review; I'm very glad you enjoyed it. It was challenging to convey my complicated feelings on intelligence--and society's perverse obsession with it--but it means a lot to read that my attempt met with at least some modicum of success : )
I am even more humbled that my meager ruminations over a movie about a talking racoon could in some small way contribute to this extraordinary article. I got choked up reading about you getting choked up staring at that convenience store facade! So much of what you wrote really resonated with me; frankly, it sounds like we had some similar "Good Will Hunting"-style experiences haha. And speaking of "Celeano," I can still remember skipping lunch in high school to sneak off to the library and read the (in retrospect, quite surprisingly--and serendipitously--stocked) S.T. Joshi works on my beloved Lovecraft.
I could ramble on at length about all of the eloquent points you made in your post (as anyone who has made it through my novel-length review of GotG 3 can attest to), but suffice it to say thank you for sharing your insight and for keeping Kenny's memory alive. I believe you did a great thing in giving him that glass of water that day and a great thing in telling his story here. And if anyone disagrees, I'd point them to the Good Book itself:
Matthew 25: 34-40
Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
I enjoyed your work very much.
The Bible reference is one of a few I had in mind. I also thought of the Living Water (the icon) and a few others.
As for the Library of Celaeno, I have the reference both through August Derleth and the Chaosium Call of Cthulhu tabletop RPG I used to play. There was a stray reference in one section of the rules to a “haunted library of Celaeno,” which stuck with me, the idea of a library full of ghosts orbiting a star in deep space. I built on that in the about section of my profile. I feel very much that I live in a haunted library in my actual life, so the nom de plume seemed appropriate.
Call of Cthulhu was a lot of fun. Nothing beats pretending to be some intrepid, 1920s academic exploring remote ruins, battling sinister cults, and uncovering esoteric tomes... only to catch a glimpse of Yog-Sothoth and have your head explode haha
This really drives home how pride and being “above” other people is awful and doesn’t matter. In all of our lived Kenny doesn’t have to be someone mentally challenged—he could just be someone open, earnest, and honest, and too good for this world. Indeed, friends to all. May we all learn from them, and may all such Kennys get the rewards they deserved.
We see and hear virtue signaling every day. This was virtue and not being signaled but being done quietly and honestly in the real world.
Thank you for the kind response.
You are welcome. Very little of what I read here causes a emotional response from me. This story did, and thank you for posting.
This was really great!
The greatest challenge in life is to make the most out of God's gifts without losing sight of the reason those gifts were first bestowed. Thank you for the thought-provoking post.
Thank you for the response. I wholly agree.
Beautiful and sad story. My son Nicolas was profoundly intellectually disabled. He taught our whole family about love. He died at age 20 in 2018 and we were devastated. The only initial consolation was that his pure soul had never known sin and so we knew that he was in the arms of Jesus. I adore the icon of Jesus at the well!
Thank you for the kind words. I am sorry for your loss and I agree with your sentiments. I think about the passage where Christ reminds us that we must be like children to enter His kingdom.
Indeed, we must be like children 🙏
Thank you for that moving story and to all the heartfelt comments.
The story actually reminds me of a film I saw ages ago called ( I think) “the Last Picture Show”. An intellectually disabled boy who is always sweeping with his broom is hit and killed by a truck. I seem to remember that most people thought it didn’t really matter much because he himself didn’t matter
This bothered me a lot
People can be heartless. I remember when Nicolas was being treated for acne. His biological aunt ( my SIL) asked me why I bothered, since it didn’t matter what he looked like.
In a sense I'm sure she didn't intend, she was right. The world is full of flawless bodies that are whitened sepulchers. Treating his acne was an act of love and having clearer skin no doubt helped him, but the beauty he gave the world only passed through his face. It emanated from within.
You have given me something to consider and a more charitable interpretation of her words, thank you
What a beautiful tribute to Kenny that you can share this story with us. I could also comment on the gorgeous literary style of this essay, but that seems trite when the story itself is so moving. Thank you for trusting your readers with this piece of your heart.
I was redirected here from your recent article, and your writing truly does allow your humanity to shine through. It's strange, but I found myself drawing parallels to Flowers for Algernon--Charles Gordon's reference to his past "slow" self as an individual who "would've given you his last slice of bread" always stuck with me. I suppose it was the dichotomy between childlike kindness and incisive intelligence (and how the former is often valued in a eulogy) that I saw again in this article.
There is a societal fixation towards traits that allow for expedient pathways, even outside the context of how the "slow" are treated. Earnestness/gentleness/"goodness" is esoterically valued through afterthoughts and eulogies (our thoughts compartmentalized into emotions of pity), something like intelligence is valued as a tool towards academic/vocational success, as opposed to an avenue towards helping those around oneself.
I digress, but this was truly a poignant account of Kenny that crushed me in an edifying manner. Thank you for writing this unflinching and reflective account of your experiences.
Thank you for your kind words. Flowers for Algernon is a favorite of mine.
Thank you for writing this. I'm not sure if I remember the quote very accurately, nor do I have any idea where it's from, but I once heard someone say that people like this are put in the world as they are for our sakes. As another commenter here said, they teach us how to love.
I am so deeply filled with regret over how I viewed some of the mentally/developmentally disabled kids in my middle school. I never bullied them, never even interacted with them, except when I was forced to. I just remember being generally annoyed with them because they would have outbursts at times or smell bad. I viewed them as at best not important; at worst lesser than me. Because they weren't smart or attractive. Shame on me, and shame on our society for valuing these things above all else. I think it is good that we thank God for these people, because they truly are gifts to the world. And we will be judged by how we treated the least of these.
Beautiful!
" I just stared at the ugly front wall of that convenience store, choking up."
Not that you need me or anyone to offer you any literary critique on this, but I wish you'd ended this piece at that line. It would have made this salute to Kenny perfect.
Thank you for this lovely tribute. I think you should send it to the woman at the college and thank her and ask her for her help in getting into a program.