Each Sunday when I was a boy, a couple of men would lead the congregation in prayer. An unlettered farmer might lead the opening prayer, and a college professor might lead us as the service ended. In 1960, most of those fellows still prayed using the language of King James: thee, thou, thy and thine. Thou hast, but he hath.
The old language was especially common in country churches. But the times they were a’changin’, and the changes seemed to occur first in the cities and university towns. Language that sounded fine in the Eisenhower years sounded strange in the day of Jimi Hendrix.
The language I heard changed, and I now have to make an effort to recall it. Similarly, the technology I grew up with is gone. I can’t remember when the party line was replaced at Grandmother’s house or when the last rotary phone disappeared. I could look it up online.
With all the change, it seems odd to me that so many bad ideas survived. It’s hard to convey to young people how grateful parents were when they stood in lines to get their children vaccinated against polio. It’s hard to imagine how many men who had fought in Europe wanted their country to have some continuing presence there, to be a voice for peace and stability and a world that was prone to war and trouble.
In the time and place where I grew up, you could hear a lot of bigoted language against people who shouldn’t have had to endure it. For a while, it seemed that we were all growing up or dying off — that all that bigotry might gradually disappear in the way that language changes, so gradually you have to be paying attention to notice it.
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