When I saw a thread similar to this one some time ago, I didn’t jump in because I wanted to maintain a little bit of mystique. Now, upon reading this one, my inner…er, bitch, was like, “Mystique?! Bitch, puh-leeze! Just who the hell do you think you are? Mystique, my ass!” so I reckon that I’ll share, too.
This might be insignificant to others; to me, not so much.
Back home in South Carolina, my grand-daddy–alav ha-shalom (may he rest in peace)–was known as “Pluck,” which, unless you were his wife, siblings, children, or grandchildren, was preceded by either “C’n” (Cousin), “Unca” (Uncle) or “Deac’n” (Deacon). People thought I favored him so much that I was sometimes called “Li’l Pluck.”
When I joined the SDMB, I wanted to pick a handle that meant something to me, and since (a) I am, IMO, often distressingly unimaginative, and (b) I retain such fond memories* of Grand-daddy, the decision was an easy one.
I am sure that the dear man has turned over in his grave a couple of (hundred) times at some of the stuff I’ve said on these boards, but I like to believe that I do his memory justice by trying to carry on the values of kindness, honesty, decency, dignity, non-macho manliness, and Southern gentlemanliness that I thought he always exhibited.
Yes, sir, Deac’n Pluck, you’ve been gone for almost 22 years, and I still miss you. Your spirit will be with me for as long as I live, but your name will be immortalized for at least the life of the internet.
*One of my fondest memories is of Grand-daddy, a few years before he died (so he would’ve been in his late 60’s), chasing the cutest little piglet around the hog pen (my family were farmers), just because my brother and I wanted to pet it. He didn’t catch it (those little suckers were fast!)–and he knew he couldn’t–but he tried just for us, and that’s all that mattered.
If you’ll pardon me, I have to go dab my eyes now.