My friend Pastor Scott is blogging now.
My father had a way with words; he could make his point known but often in such a low-key way that if you weren’t paying close attention, you might never know he had made any comment whatsoever. When the annoying and frustrating things of life tried to clutter up his day, he would view them not with some kind of pejorative or foul oath, but by hanging on them this handle: “tacky.” To him, tacky was the essence of uncouth, or rude, or unseemly, something out of place or out of manners. If someone displayed angry behavior towards him, his view of it was “So-and-so managed to get really tacky today.” Occasionally a colleague would tell a slightly off-color joke; dad would label the story as “tacky” until the same story would wind up being repeated by the same person, whereupon that person became “tacky”.
There was a time in…
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