Everyone has an “Uncle Kenny” — or should have, a man who works hard — with his hands — his entire life. Kenny was actually my wife’s uncle, or I should say, one of her many uncles. On my side of the family, there was Uncle Lee — hardworking, slow talking, with hands so strong he had to consciously shake hands with a gentle touch. By the time I met Kenny, decades on the farm had taken its toll. His hands reminded me of his old tools — bent and scarred, a testament to years of use.