My Apologies to Ken

Ok, so maybe I made a little merry on Memorial Day. Perhaps I should have stuck with the Magic Hat and not tried something new. Maybe I should have stopped with one helping of grilled food. Whatever the reason, I promise I will TRY to never make fun of Ken Cook again.
Ken Cook, as most of you know, is my secret nemesis. He’s the ever-popular Atlanta weather man, or meteorologist, that makes me so crazy.
My love-hate relationship with Ken Cook goes way back to the early 1980s, when I was in the fifth grade and had that big crush on Forrest Sawyer, who was at the time an anchor for Channel 5 in Atlanta. I watched the news religiously. Not because I thought I might become a newswoman, or a weather girl, or anything of the like. I watched because I had a thing for Forrest Sawyer and I’d be danged if I was going to let that silly Pam Martin get her hands on him. I even used to listen to that old Anne Murray song, “A Little Good News,” that my mother liked and picture me and Forrest, happy together, running off and leaving Pam behind.
While I was drooling over Forrest, part of the deal was Ken Cook. He was a slick, black-haired weather man back then, and he usually, I noticed, got the forecast right. Not that I cared. As long as the power didn’t go out and make me miss Hart to Hart or God forbid, Scarecrow and Mrs. King, I really didn’t care what Ken had to say.
Then one day we were sitting in our 6th grade science class and in walked Ken Cook! There he was, in all his weather personality glory, talking to us like he actually appreciated what a student had to say. That was, until Casey Keesee accused him of coloring his hair and after that, he quickly excused himself from the classroom.
Years went by and I moved away. Forrest moved off and made it big on the CBS Evening News as a correspondent and Pam moved over to Channel 2. Channel 5 became a FOX affiliate. I continued to not care what Ken said. From time to time, my mother might mention something she heard Ken say. At that point I couldn’t really believe he was still alive, much less still on television.
More years went by, and I found myself living once again within range of Ken’s forecast. I began to worry over the weather. I began to worry over the big tree in our front yard that seemed to take aim at our picture window every time it stormed. I began to worry more and more about Charley’s commute to Buford each time the dreaded “S” word was in the forecast.
As Ken pranced around in his red vest, yelling and cheering about a Winter Wonderland, my husband sat, stuck on I85 North for ten hours in January of 2010. It was at this point that I began to despise Ken and all he represented…a culture so deprived of snow that they feel the need to rush out and buy a generator and a snow shovel every time Ken dons the red vest.
It’s not much better in the springtime, either. This is when you can find Ken in his yellow vest…shouting about tornadoes and interrupting the season finale of Bones. He continues to holler at people he must know are without power, urging them to seek underground shelter before it’s too late. He MUST realize that it is probably already too late, and even if it’s not, they are probably without power and are using what little remains on the generator to communicate with loved ones, not watch his storm-crazed antics.
So for several years I have made fun of Ken, to anyone who would listen. Mostly because I hate snow, but occasionally because I simply hate any weather that disrupts my fun. But this all ends tonight. You see, I had a horrible dream last night. I dreamed that Ken was trying to assassinate me. First, he tried to strangle me by the kitchen sink. After I escaped, he tried to hunt me down with what looked suspiciously like Harry’s Nerf water gun. Finally, after a big tree shot through my picture window in the den, he tried to hunt me down with a piece of glass he took from that, no doubt as punishment for ignoring his storm warnings.
I woke up with a racing heartbeat, and in a cold sweat. I was thankful to be alive after all that running from the homicidal weather man. I checked all my limbs and make sure I was still in one piece, and went to the den to make sure the tree wasn’t sprawled across the sofa.. Then I started thinking about taking my kids to the beach on Thursday. I wonder what the weather will be like. Perhaps I should check with Ken. I wonder if he’ll take me back, after all these years. He turned out better looking than Forrest, anyway…