Back in the day when kindergarten ended at noon and five-year-old children walked home on their own, I met an angel named Jenny.

As I left Miss Cotrell’s class, it was raining hard, and I struggled to carry both an umbrella and the morning’s art work.  A gust of wind blew my precious picture into a puddle and I howled as though I’d lost my first-born.

Jenny, also a kindergartener, picked up my first-born, took me by the hand, and walked me home.  I was awed by her kindness and no less by the confidence with which she navigated this foreign country –  a block she had never visited.  Jenny handed me over to my mother, who with great care, took out wooden clothes pins and hung my picture up to dry.

And ever since that day, I have loved the name Jenny.