Tact

or why it is sometimes best to keep our mouths shut no matter how awkward it may seem to do the same

I still think about the time that during an otherwise enjoyable conversation I had with a co-worker, I innocently (inanely) asked her if the picture on her desk was a picture of her father. In my defense, I think we had talked about her father (or at least that's how I choose to recall this). I remember her face reddened a little as she said, "no, that's Tony. My husband."

I reddened more than a little.

I knew before I finished my question that I didn't and shouldn't want to finish my question. If I lived in a cartoon universe, I can assure you that I would have reeled in my conversation blurb before she had an opportunity to read my words.

I'm sure that my former girlfriend's mother experienced much the same intense regret when she attended the viewing for the mother of a schoolmate. She and her boyfriend ran into the grief-striken girl in the vestibule of the funeral parlor. The girl, like the two of them, was a freshman at college at the time and was clearly touched that a high school classmate would make the effort to come to the viewing.

"Noreen, I'm so glad that you came," the girl said.

Noreen, like many of us in such situations, felt awkward being appreciated on a day of sorrow. She, like many of us, searched for the words that might make this girl feel better, perhaps not realizing that her mere appearance was enough.

Instead, Noreen hugged her and said, "I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

Nervous laughter by Noreen and her boyfriend ensued, followed by their hasty departure, leaving the girl to her grief and confusion.

Then there is Meathead (an alias for a high school classmate of mine). Meathead was not a super bright person, hence the name, and he did have a tendency to place his foot in his mouth so often that his dentist treated him for athlete's foot.

Even so, I cannot imagine that even Meathead intended to be so callous that day in the Gap.

Meathead ran into Eric and I talking to Beth and Kathy at the jeans store in the Berkshire Mall. Beth and Kathy were (I believe they still are) sisters whose father had passed away from stomach cancer a few months before.

Meathead must have overheard us talking about their father because he thoughtfully (for him) asked, "how is your dad doing?"

My grandmother is 85. Her mother died over 40 years ago. To this day it is difficult for her to talk about that. She can talk about all of the great things her mother did, but acknowledging that her mother is no longer among us is hard even after all of this time.

So, I cannot imagine it would be any easier for 2 college-age girls, only a few months removed from their father's death, to say "he passed away"... but they managed to do so.

Most people in situations like this instinctively reply, "I'm so sorry to hear that. How are you doing?" They may not truly mean it or care, but they are human enough to know that they too could be there one day and that this is the courteous thing to say.

Mike, however, is called Meathead for a reason. I can still hear the words clearly as if lodged as a permanent voicemail message in my mind ...

"Oh that's right, I forgot your dad bit the dust."

Being the sick, twisted person that I am, and being fortunate enough to have best friends who share my same gallows humor, even if I want to forget these lessons about the safety of maintaining the awkward silence, I cannot.

So thank you, Eric, for informing me that the great Dolphins punter, Reggie Roby, has died at the age of 43, for reminding me of this timeless lesson of tactfulness, and for letting me know that "another one bites the dust".