On being judged
On being judged
When you write nice things I am glad and I am comforted. And when you write grumpy things I feel bad and I feel upset. But I have learned to take pause. If, on reflection, I can see you are right, then I respond; apologetically, suitably chastened. If, however, it is merely a matter of opinion and I still stand by my view, then I try to let your cross words wash over me, as unaffecting as a sun shower. Occasionally, though, you write to me declaring that while you were once a fan, well, after what I said about classroom sizes/ abortion/Crocs, then you are afraid to say it, but no longer. No longer will you deign to read this page. That I am effectively dead to you. It is these letters that trouble me the most; that hook their barbs into my flesh, and refuse to let go. YOU LOST ME, read the subject line of an email I received the other day. And I felt for this reader, I really did. Because who wants to be the cause of another’s disappointment? Who hasn’t experienced the crushing disappointment of liking someone, admiring them even, safe in the knowledge you’re on the same page, that in the sometimes scary, often confusing, playground of life, you’ve found a friend, a kindred spirit, only to have your assumptions dashed to the ground by a viewpoint you find abhorrent, trampled on by behaviour you find intolerable?
At a friend’s house the other night, between mouthfuls of cheese and cracker and cherry tomato, I asked after his parents; lovely people, who he adores. He put down his beer. Actually, he said, I’m really angry with them. Apparently he had been visiting them, having a jolly old time, when the conversation turned to a gay couple who had been in the news recently. My friend’s father said something about it being wrong, indeed disgusting. My friend was stunned. He knows his parents to be conservative, but also wise and kind. He reproached his father for his homophobia, expecting his mother would back him up, but was left even more disturbed when she concurred with her husband. I feel so let down by them, he said. These are the people I’ve been grateful to my whole life for instilling in me such a strong moral compass and now I feel like I can’t trust their judgment.
When someone you only know at a distance shows their true colours and those colours turn out to include a shade of burnt orange you’re not terribly fond of, it can be disconcerting, but when it’s someone you know intimately, it can be devastating. I advised my friend to raise his distress with his parents, but that at their age they were unlikely to change, that ultimately he would have to decide whether he could put it to one side, or not.
One of the hallmarks of a rookie profile writer is the intro that proclaims the interviewer’s surprise when their subject turns out to be something other than what they had bargained on.
As she sipped her hot chocolate, I couldn’t help noticing she wore no makeup, those famous curves scarcely detectable beneath her down-to-earth T-shirt and jeans. All warmth and smiles, the hard-edged femme fatale I had been expecting was nowhere to be seen …
As a young journalist I thought to kick off a character study in this vein was the height of sophistication until one day it occurred to me that all my profiles began like this. It wasn’t that I was lying. People, especially those whose reputation precedes them, are usually not what you were anticipating, but in and of itself there is nothing particularly revealing about this. People can be unpredictable. That is our horror. And that is our wonder.
FOLLOWING ON
A propos my loathing of karaoke, Miranda had this to say: “I, too, grew up lip-syncing whenever necessary. In Form Three I was livid when I was removed from the compulsory choir for singing out-of-tune. I was not singing at all so resented this false accusation. When pregnant for the first time at 33, I decided I wanted to take singing lessons so I could sing to our baby. I met the most wonderful woman, who told me everyone can sing. And so I did. Including in front of a dozen or so close friends and family (plus the rest of the fine dining restaurant)at my husband’s 40th surprise birthday party.”
When someone you only know at a distance shows their true colours and those colours turn out to include a shade of burnt orange you’re not terribly fond of, it can be disconcerting.