In a word ... Tact

She was direct. An acquaintance, it was a while since we had met and our meeting this time was accidental. Hand outstretched, she looked at me and said “. . . I suppose we’re all getting older.” The implication was clear.

I’d aged since our paths last had crossed.

I ignored the remark and kissed her on the cheek with the unalloyed bonhomie of a natural born hypocrite. Of course she was right. I had aged since we had met. I had aged since the previous Friday when I had taken part in family celebrations. One night of such puts years on me. Two successive nights, as then, adds decades. If temporarily.

Then there was that young girl at a cinema. I was in Belfast unexpectedly and had an evening to kill. I decided to go to see the film Me and Earl and the Dying Girl.

The young girl, having given me the ticket, hesitated, then said, “Should I have given you a discount?”.

I had already asked “Why?”, when I realised the answer to that question. By that time she was in rapid recovery mode.

“You know . . . sometimes . . . people say they are . . .” Charmed by her discomfort and smile I said, “It’s okay. I’m not entitled to a discount just yet.”

It was a large cinema and I was all alone. Then numbers increased by 500 per cent. Two young girls came in and sat in the middle, and then a young couple sat a few seats in front of me. Just them and me and Earl and the dying girl.

An original, unsentimental, worth-seeing film.

Tact seems to be in decline these days. That shouldn’t surprise someone like me. Tact isn’t a family trait. Two members in particular have perfected the skill of saying it first and regretting it forever later. And others among us don’t realise they are being tactless at all.

Some years ago after a local man had dug a massive grave for my uncle, my mother complimented him on doing such a fine job.

He responded by saying, “Thanks Mrs McGarry. Sure I’ll do the same for you.”

But he won’t. He died last year while she’s hale and hearty.

Tact, from the Latin tactus, meaning touch, from tangere, to touch. In the late 18th century, it gained its modern meaning of delicacy in dealing with others. inaword@irishtimes.com