It was a cry from the heart. A loving son--someones grown child--was upset by his father's behavior at his mother-in-laws Thanksgiving dinner last year. In a question to the New York Times' Social Q's, he complained that his father, who had wrangled an invitation to the feast (he had no place else to go), "dominated the entire dinner conversation with stories about himself." He'd prefer the father not attend this year, but how to make that happen?
That was the question he posed but there's the obverse side to it. Is he--and his peers--talking about us? We don't have to be an invitation-wrangler to be on our worst self-centered behavior. We can even be hosting the Thanksgiving dinner and be overbearing. Age may have its prerogatives but letting the evening be all about us is a dangerous place to go--as this son's query suggests. We may do it because we feel a bit ignored or are rebelling against the reality that we are no longer center stage or have the starring role in the family. The Social Q's answer to the upset son might as well be a reminder to all of us who may feel we have the right to impose ourselves as the master/mistress of the evening.
What Philip Galanes, the author of the column, wrote was a suggestion to the son that rather than trying to exclude dear old dad, he try talking to him along these lines: "Can you do me a favor, Dad? Susie’s family isn’t as gregarious as you. Let’s ask lots of question, to draw them out.”
Always worth remembering. As are these lines that I posted from a poem in this blog. Here's the pertinent excerpt:
"An abundance of opinions will generate heat/but accomplish nothing./You no longer have to comment/on each and every little thing./You can observe events with a detached serenity./When you speak,/your words are gentle, helpful, and few./Your silence is as beautiful as the Harvest moon.
