I had a chat with someone named Ken today about why I spell my name “Kenn” the way that I do. It’s quite simple, to say nothing of tragic, really.Years ago, I’m guessing it must have been in the early-to-mid-1980’s, a man was murdered in a Toronto park – viciously beaten to death because he was gay. He spelled his name “Kenn”, so I adopted that spelling as a tribute to him. Even though I was not living in Toronto at that time, I identified strongly with the circumstances of the man’s death. I’ll leave it at that. I still think of him a lot, at the very least every time I spell my name out for someone.
“That’s Kenn, with two n’s,” I say.
He had a partner and family members who loved him. I am sure he is missed.