In the midst of listening to a student of mine (nice work, JC!) playing a solo at the town Memorial Day ceremony, I started to tear up slightly. It wasn't an abstract kind of emotion but I felt bad in a very personal way. As I have written before, I am named after my Dad's cousin (and friend) who was killed in Vietnam in 1969. My Dad is not someone who has a lot of friends or keeps a social network of any kind. I think Ken Sawyer is probable the only person outside of his immediate family he has ever talked about to me from before I was born.
With the speeches and the music and the flag raising ceremony setting the backdrop, I found myself musing on the life my namesake never got to have. My son was sitting between my wife and I, my daughter in the band, half of the attendees some kind of larger family of sorts since I had taught many of them or they were related to or friends of someone I had taught; a sense of community I suppose is what I'm trying to capture.
Ken, you never got to have this life. This fulfilling life. I am sorry you didn't. I don't think it means much that I would think about you at a moment like this, but maybe it does.
I didn't know you, but I Remember you.
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