The Kindness Of Ken

My friend, Ken, has been grumpy lately. His goal in life, winning the lottery, hasn't materialized yet and he's pissed off, feeling he deserves better treatment from the universe. Then, a recent doctor's visit brought him some bad news: he needs to cut out the sugar and lose a good amount of weight. He's so bummed. Now, during his evening cardio regimen, he questions if life is even worth living.

I can't help it, but my heart goes out to him.

Ken is a living saint, but most people wouldn't know it. When I first met him at work, he was a single 28-year-old. On occasion, we interacted on projects, but when I moved 50 miles south to live closer to work, my new proximity gave him an idea. "Well, I could be your friend now!" is how he put it.

I was raised believing that friendships were about having things in common. Ken and I had nothing in common. I had just run a Democratic Congressional race and lost. He was a Republican. I was an avid activist. He was a golfer, playing tournaments at fancy resorts. I believed in social justice, he didn't know what that meant. In sum, I had no idea how to be friends with someone so opposite. Did I even want to try?

Perhaps a therapist could help me sort this out.

During my 50 minute session, I shared my honest concerns about getting into such a friendship. What if it's not fun? What about our lack of interests in common? The wise therapist saw it differently, "What if he can be helpful in your life?"

I never thought of friendships as transactional, but her words sparked my curiosity, and now I was picturing Ken up on a ladder fixing a broken lightbulb. As our workplace's facilities manager, he had a reputation for being resourceful and helpful—a Johnny on the spot—so, I thought, well, who knows?

But the idea was so novel that it merited more exploration—or maybe even some soul searching.

Up to that point, friends were about doing fun things together and having ideals and values in common. But here was out-of-the-box Ken with his friendly, soft-spoken manner offering a platonic friendship for the sake of social bonding and camaraderie. It was unusual. Still, though our work collaborations were limited, I felt he was a good guy. And I trusted his sincerity and detected no ulterior motives.

So, we went out and enjoyed some nice dinners at first, but I could tell that wasn't his style. It was mine. He was more of a Home Depot guy, eager to check out any fancy new grills on sale, then later grab a burger—that was his idea of fun.

Once, I gifted him an expensive new shirt, thinking he'd wear it in place of his loud, Hawaiian one. He was nonplussed. Then I bought him an elegant, British tweed golfing cap, to which he said, "Nope!" He didn't golf in Scotland. Soon, without him saying so, I realized he wasn't a "Ken" doll for me to dress up—and I wasn't Barbie. But our friendship found its way.

When I bought my first home in Long Beach, a duplex, Ken volunteered to move into the back unit so that I could have "guaranteed rent" despite him being settled in his own nice apartment in Manhattan Beach. And when I realized the new place was a money pit in need of repairs, Ken rolled up his sleeves to help.

When I launched a youth empowerment program, Ken funded it. When rain poured through my home's roof during a powerful storm, Ken mounted its slippery shingles and nailed down a tarp. When my bunny died, Ken arrived from work with a shovel and dug a backyard grave. These were just the first nuggets of heroic kindness unearthed from his heart of gold.

A couple decades have passed and Ken is now happily married, living a couple miles away. His halo has never tarnished and, until recently, I could count on him being hopeful and as cheerful as a field of dandelions waiting for any new wishes to arise.

Despite time taking its toll, Ken's goodness popped up unexpectedly when he dropped off an expensive new De'Longhi cappuccino maker for my birthday. It was HIS wish for me to enjoy its luxury. The next day he sent one of his "guided" messages: "Well, I hope today is a day that brings sips of pleasure throughout the day, and at the end of the day you see your fortune is in the cup." Indeed, he is that fortune without recognizing it.

As Youtropolis continues to evolve, Ken's been there every step of the way with supportive, wise words such as, "There's so much love around. It's just flying in circles waiting to be caught...you just have to have the right net." And, "No matter what is said or comes out of a person's mouth, it does not tell the full story. Only the heart does."

And there's always more, "Feel, look, listen, see—but do all these through the heart, for the heart is the key to the universe."

Recently, I asked Ken for his opinion on which outdoor security lights were the best. I just wanted his advice. But Ken being Ken offered more. He showed up with three security lights, got on that ladder, and started the installation process.