I'm not old enough to remember watching The Monkees tv show when it first aired but a few years later I can remember looking forward to watching the show in reruns a few years after they originally aired. Saturday mornings were always The Monkees, The Banana Splits, and any of the numerous Sid and Marty Krofft shows. Even back then I could realize how campy the show was, but I loved it and I loved the music. But that's not the reason I cried.

Then along came the Brady Bunch, another favorite TV show of my formative years. Even today, I can quote lines from the episode (Mom always said, don't play ball in the house.) And I can vividly recall the entire episode where Marsha got Davy to meet Davy. And when he play himself in The Brady Bunch movie. A really stupid movie but that one scene rocked. But that's not why I cried.

In the early 80's, I met the woman who would eventually become my wife. As I got to know and love her I also got to know her family. Her mom, dad, and sister. Her Aunt Jane and her 3 kids. And my favorite part of the family, Aunt Dar, Uncle Fred, and their daughter Amy. And then there was Uncle Kerry. Kerry was Dar and Dee's (my wife's mom) brother. Kerry absolutey LOVED The Monkees. Every Christmas we would get him Monkee records, which then became tapes and eventually morphed into CD's. Kerry was always at his happiest when he was listening to the Monkees. Long after record players went the way of the dinosaurs, I searched high and low to find record players so Kerry could listen to his favorite band. In fact, one time in the early 90's I bought a pallet full of old record players at an Alachua County school surpless auction because he was wearing out the needles on the players he had.

When Kerry died several years ago I wondered what was going to happen to all his Monkee stuff, not just the CD's, but also all the other Monkee stuff he owned. I never asked and I assume Aunt Dar has it because she was closest to him and helped care for him most of his life. When I got the news about Davy, I started thinking about Kerry and all the good times we had with him. Watching Scooby Do. Making "flags" out of hot wheel tracks and paper bags. Having to sing Happy Birthday 3 times just so he could get to blow out the candles even though it wasn't his birthday.

Those and many other memories of Kerry are why I cried. Uncle Kerry was very special to everybody that ever knew him. That's why we went to any length possible in order for him to play his Monkees records. You see, Uncle Kerry had Down's Syndrome, but lived about 20 years longer than doctors thought he would. And his caretakers at his group home in Alabama would tell us how Kerry would constantly play his Monkees records and how happy it made him.

Remembering Uncle Kerry. That's why I cried.