“Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord, and the fruit of the womb is His reward.”
~ Psalms 127:3
This past Tuesday, July 8th, our third son turned 19 years old. He was my special gift that year, born just five days after my birthday. I wanted to name him Jacob Keen and call him Jake, just to avoid the confusion that goes along with having a junior. But when we looked at him it was if the name “Keen” was tattooed on his forehead. Then my husband told me he would be bursting with pride to have a son named after him (for some reason we had never even considered it with our first two boys). I continued to lobby for Jake, but it just seemed like our new little son was looking up at us saying, “My name is Keen; you can try to name me something else, but my name is Keen.” So Keen it was. Officially, his name is Keen Alfred Umbehr II, which is not only derived from his father, but also from his paternal great-grandfather Keen and his paternal great-great grandfather Alfred.
Eventually we came up with a nickname for him: Keener. When he was little he would correct us if we called him Keen. He’d say, “I’m not Keen - I’m Keener!” Or, “I’m not son, I’m Keener!” Then when we got it right he’d say, “That’s more like it!”
One time when he was about nine years old he told me that when he grew up he was going to get married and have two kids – a boy and a girl. The girl was going to be named Christine and the boy was going to be named Keen. “So I can keep up the tradition.” I remember thinking, “What in the world does a nine year old know about tradition?”
The following poem was written by Keen’s best friend in high school, Rachel Ann Yancey. With her permission, I’d like to share it with you.
Eventually we came up with a nickname for him: Keener. When he was little he would correct us if we called him Keen. He’d say, “I’m not Keen - I’m Keener!” Or, “I’m not son, I’m Keener!” Then when we got it right he’d say, “That’s more like it!”
One time when he was about nine years old he told me that when he grew up he was going to get married and have two kids – a boy and a girl. The girl was going to be named Christine and the boy was going to be named Keen. “So I can keep up the tradition.” I remember thinking, “What in the world does a nine year old know about tradition?”
The following poem was written by Keen’s best friend in high school, Rachel Ann Yancey. With her permission, I’d like to share it with you.
He is quiet in his own way,
Afraid to maybe go too far away.
He wears what is clean.
Worries he is overweight or too lean.
There is no joke he does not know,
So don’t even try or give it a go.
He gets nervous when he drives.
And he hopes to live a million lives.
Things he does not understand amaze him,
And things he knows too much about confuse him.
He cannot tell a lie,
And when conversing, you best look him in the eye.
Freckles cover his face and arms,
He is full of laughter and charm.
Try if you might to break his will,
But he will hold still and still.
He is out to please everyone,
But will take advice from only One.
There is something magical in his eye.
Something you don’t see on every guy.
That is what draws me to his side.
His intense and powerful pride,
Will forever keep him in memories to pass,
Till the only one left is his very last.
Afraid to maybe go too far away.
He wears what is clean.
Worries he is overweight or too lean.
There is no joke he does not know,
So don’t even try or give it a go.
He gets nervous when he drives.
And he hopes to live a million lives.
Things he does not understand amaze him,
And things he knows too much about confuse him.
He cannot tell a lie,
And when conversing, you best look him in the eye.
Freckles cover his face and arms,
He is full of laughter and charm.
Try if you might to break his will,
But he will hold still and still.
He is out to please everyone,
But will take advice from only One.
There is something magical in his eye.
Something you don’t see on every guy.
That is what draws me to his side.
His intense and powerful pride,
Will forever keep him in memories to pass,
Till the only one left is his very last.
Keener's Birthday
