Lent 2013, Day 14: Mixed Feedback

“We did what you said, but the feedback has been mixed,” a delightful acquaintance well into her ninth decade wrote me recently. I could feel my blood start to boil. I had suggested she and her husband quit worrying about getting their memoirs into perfect book form, and start sending their lovely reminiscences out to family members and friends in shorter versions.

Mixed feedback? Who, especially among those who know and love them best, could criticize or challenge this wonderful couple’s stories? I read the sample she had sent. It was about how the husband had made his initial employment decision, a decision that would lead to a decades-long impressive career with the same firm. Who could find offense? I was ready to hunt down the people who had made my acquaintance feel sad, and give them a piece of my mind. But I decided I’d wait until we saw each other later in the week.

When we got together, she qualified what she’d said. Some people loved the story. One grandson in particular, she said, smile spreading across her face and light coming into her eyes, sent them a long note in which he said he would treasure his grandparents’ recollections always. This grandson is living abroad. Neither my friend nor I said it, but I’m quite sure we both were thinking the grandson’s praise was especially sweet given he may not have many more opportunities to create new memories with his grandparents.

No one said anything mean or nasty, it turned out; it was just that some people, including some of those the couple most expected to hear from, didn’t respond at all.

I was reminded of what fragile beings we all–not just writers, but all of us– are, of how much more attuned our ears can be negativity or a presumption of silence as negativity than to praise and love. And I was reminded how much a few kind words, so easy to provide, can make to those who have made themselves vulnerable to us.