Kenny, Kenny, Kenny! July 15, 2012

A funny thing happened at my three daughters' swim meet last week. It seemed that my brother-in-law's name kept coming up in conversation with almost everyone with whom I came in contact. Kenny this, Kenny that. Kenny, Kenny, Kenny!

After a very long, stressful day of drilling teeth, I was eager for a change of scenery as I sauntered to the pool area at Richmond County Country Club. We were versing Hillside Swim Club, the Interclub League powerhouse, so a victory was improbable, but everyone knows that the best part of a swim meet is seeing and catching up with other swim moms.

After my kids kissed me hello and advised me of what events and lanes they would be racing that afternoon, I was immediately greeted by Victoria, a fellow swim mom, and my childhood friend at Sacred Heart School. Growing up, we were largely considered to be the smartest kids in the class. And whereas I was even more largely considered a dork, she was very cool and athletic and went on to attend medical school with my brother-in-law, Kenny.

I only see Victoria twice yearly at these swim meets and invariably our conversations revolve around Kenny, an orthopedic surgeon at NYU Langone Medical Center, and yesterday was no exception. We chit-chatted about both their successful careers in medicine before I introduced her to my in-laws, who were also at the meet, after which they all reminisced about the "good old days." They laughed about how she and Ken always carpooled in his tiny Datsun to save money on gas when going anywhere, how smart and witty he was at Downstate, and what an all-around great guy he still is.

Then I run into another friend of Kenny's from high school, Valerie. They had dated briefly, I think as teenagers, but have since remained best of friends to this day, in their forties.  She had seen a photo that I had posted of Kenny, my husband, Michael, and me on Facebook at a recent dinner out in Manhattan. Naturally, a discussion ensued about Kenny's former, current and prospective girlfriends and how funny it is that we both receive hilarious texts from him before, during and after dates. Above all, we talked about his great concern and care for my in-laws and how lucky the woman is who will someday marry him. Then we shot a photo of us together and texted it to him.

I started to make my way across the swimming pool to say hello to my other friends, who were wisely congregated in the shade, watching their children in backstroke events. Of course, I was stopped by another friend of Kenny's along the way, whose son had done an internship with him and was headed to Cornell University in September (Kenny's undergraduate degree in biomedical engineering was earned at Cornell).  My brother-in-law had written this young man a letter of recommendation.  Evidently, it helped.

Now mind you, I love my husband's only brother. He is smart and handsome. He's a great uncle, brother and son .  He lives an enviable bachelor's life as a successful Manhattan surgeon, highly esteemed by his medical colleagues, staff and patients. He is everyone's go-to guy when they need help, medically or personally. He is also always the life of the party and has vast circles of friends who you will meet repeatedly at wonderful social gatherings he organizes in the coolest restaurants and bars in Manhattan. But I started to grow weary of talking about him almost exclusively at my children's swim meet!

So, what are the chances that even the next two women I said hello to also bring Kenny up?  Umm... very high!  One was a fellow tennis player whose knee had been essentially saved by my brother-in-law's surgical skills, after a half-dozen botched-up diagnoses and treatments by other orthopedic surgeons.  The other was a friend who told me of her daughter's summer internship in Milan, Italy, but almost in the same breath mentioned how wonderful it was that Kenny had facilitated our mutual friend's son's orthopedic internship at NYU for six weeks this July and August.

As I sipped my iced-cold lemonade, I resigned myself to the fact that I'd be discussing Kenny for a solid two hours. I nodded dutifully in agreement at how wonderful and influential my brother-in-law is in the microcosm of his medical specialty and social circles, although I have to admit of growing a bit bored and a touch annoyed by it all.  Just at that moment, my iPhone chirped. I had a message. I look at the screen and see it's a text from Kenny. 

He said the one-year anniversary of my eldest daughter's (his goddaughter's) abdominal surgery was soon coming up and instead of my taking her away to Chicago or Los Angeles like I had mentioned last week to him (in almost inaudible passing, by the way) to commemorate, why don't I consider using his Manhattan apartment for a girls' weekend getaway? He would be out of town at a medical convention and his home is within walking distance of great shopping and restaurants.

I was stopped dead in my tracks. I so was deeply touched, not only by his generous offer, but by his thoughtfulness in remembering the anniversary of my daughter Charista's medical emergency last July. It was without a doubt the scariest day of my life, and even at that time, he was there every step of the way, helping me and Michael, saving his niece's life with his emotional support and medical contacts. At that moment, I was grateful for my daughter's health. I was grateful for my family. And I was grateful for Kenny.

And at that moment I was reminded what the fuss was all about.

My eldest daughter, Charista, with her Uncle Kenny. Christmas 2011

Kenny, Gracelyn, Michael ~ Les Halles, Manhattan, July 2012