I am famous in my family for my absentmindedness. “Have we said grace?” I will inquire, moments after we finish saying grace before dinner. My kids know that if they want me to remember to accomplish any promised task, they have to write me a note. I will make a comment during a movie and will be informed I said exactly the same thing the last time we watched it (I won’t even recall having seen the film before). For any details of my childhood, I count on my sisters to remember.
I’ve learned to live with this weakness, and aside from having some concern how I will function as age makes its inroads, I generally shrug it off. But last night I was slightly taken aback.
I am rereading a terrific book of history that decades ago won the Pulitzer Prize. As is my habit, I looked it up on Amazon to find other readers’ opinions. (I love sharing books and films this way.)
All the reviews were full of praise — “Wonderful!” “Masterly,” “History comes alive!” “Awesome,” “A masterpiece” — except one, which was sneering and dismissive. What?!
To that review, there was one in response. It was cool, civil, and in a few short sentences demolished the sneerer’s argument.
Gosh, I agree with that, I thought to myself.
I went to click on the voting buttons to register my approval, only to find:
Why no voting buttons? We don’t let customers vote on their own reviews.
I myself had written the response in 2007.