Be Like Jim

 I’m writing this particular blog today because I’ll be in Nebraska next week celebrating the life of my dad, James Kenner, Jr.  He died peacefully on August 11, 2024, at the grand age of 99 years, 5 months, and 8 days.  You can read his obituary if you want to know where he was born and went to school, his work and accomplishments, his service to the community, including being the mayor of Hebron, Nebraska, his hobbies, and the extensive family he leaves behind.  The following words describe the qualities that made my dad the remarkable person he was.

Being the eldest child of Jim Kenner has been one of the greatest honors of my life, and I’m certain my siblings would agree we hit the jackpot to have Jim Kenner as our dad.  He understood the value of service, both the small behind-the-scenes jobs and his duty in the Navy during the Korean War.  A local newspaper had this to say, “This man has been a true treasure to Thayer County.  There are not enough words to adequately describe the contribution he made to life.  He wore many hats and his zest for living cannot be replaced.”  

My dad was creative in surprising ways.  He was a model train enthusiast for decades and built intricate, detailed layouts.  One of his best innovations at our Minnesota cabin was using a system of complicated pulleys/ropes/a ladder/floatation devices to put in and take out the docks all by himself.  He also built a sailboat from scratch.

When there was anger or a conflict, my dad had a stealth ability to remove himself from the situation.  He knew when to walk away.  Although I’ve learned to lean into hard conversations to solve problems, I also know when to walk away until the energy is diffused.  This is one of the most important skills he taught me, and I still practice it often whenever things flare up.

Life with my dad was full of adventures in our childhood.  As kids he used to take us out for drives on the River Road, piled in the back of the truck.  We found fossils, swam in muddy river water, and explored unfamiliar caves.  Those Sunday afternoon adventures always seemed to have an element of mischief.  Many of our best adventures involved water, such as learning to water ski on the Little Blue River when I was seven.  We’d drive the boat down the river, then drop off the skier to turn the boat around for another run.  There were years of lake adventures, both at Lovewell in Kansas and in northern Minnesota.  In particular, our Minnesota summers were filled with swimming, skiing, canoeing, and multi-genereational pontoon rides.  My best memories with my dad were our days of sailing together. 

Jimmy waterskied till he was 83 and drove a jet ski into his early 90s.  A memorable water adventure for several of us was the 5-day Boundary Waters canoe trip we took along the Minnesota/Canadian border when he was 72.  Of that trip he wrote: “It was wonderful and I would say to you all, I hope your experiences with your children will be as fulfilling as mine have been with mine.”

My dad had a close relationship to his mother and often spoke of how loving she was.  I believe he carried that kind of love into his relationships with all of us. When each of us was with him he always made us feel like we were the special one. We knew he treated everyone that way.  Even though our family is comprised of individuals with different perspectives and belief systems, he modeled how to see beyond differences and look for the common ground.  He showed us how to love. Even into his final days, he expressed what a long, wonderful life he had with our family.  

Jim seemed unaware of how much he helped and was loved by others.  Over the years I heard stories about him helping people out, pulling cash out of his pocket to give them a boost or assist in one way or another. When I expressed my appreciation for his guidance in my early years, he responded in a letter: “I may have been an inspiration but sometimes doubt just how good an example I was.” (1998)

Even in his final year at the nursing home, Jimmy managed to retain his sense of humor. He continued with his notorious one-liners I’ve called “Jim-isms.”  Here are a few:

•  Someone approached Jim to say hi when he was 96, and could barely see:  “I’d get up to shake your hand but they’d think I was showing off.”

•  Around the same time when a family member adjusted his collar:  “I’ve gotta look sharp, even though I’m not!”

•  After a slightly rough boat landing at the dock:  “Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.”

•  When asked how he was doing:  “If I was any better, I’d be dangerous.” 

One Jim-ism I heard him say several times was this proposed inscription for his grave:  “Here lies Jim.  We finally got rid of him.”

I’d like to suggest an alternative message, in honor of a man who made this world a better place for nearly a century: “We loved him.  Be like Jim.”