Daddy

My father, Rev. D. W. Lacy, passed to his eternal reward twenty years ago this month.  Dad was proper to a fault.  When he was digging a ditch or framing a building he was attired in work clothes.  When he was in the office, in the sanctuary, or calling on parishioners or conducting business in town he wore dress shirt and tie and a suit.  He wore knee-high socks because he thought it an abomination for a man to show even a bit of bare shank.  If he was in work attire and needed something from the lumber yard or hardware store he would change into business attire before showing himself in town.

I still miss Daddy every day.