Absolute Gentleman

Peter Bergman never should have written that review; not for its negativity, but because he and I used to be friends and now we are most definitely not. Ever since I became a teacher back in 1995 there always have been people, older professionals, who thought it necessary to try and knock me down a peg. The funny thing is that the professionals have always been women until I met Peter — or maybe it’s not so strange and funny, but normal and funny.

I’m trying to figure out if my reaction to it means that it bothers me. I’m leaning toward the view that it doesn’t bother me, else I wouldn’t be talking about it so much. My style is to internalize something that has wounded me and avoid talking about it. Some would say that it does really bother me and so I talk about it too much, that this is a clear indication that he’s gotten to me. I say no. I’ve written about a moderate amount of topics that have meant something to my life, and there are some things I absolutely will not write about, at least not at this time. The things I refuse to put on paper are the things that bother me to the center of my soul. I’ve writtten a lot of things that have bothered me moderately, so maybe that’s how I can classify this incident.

When I left The Berkshire Writers Room three years ago, I left Peter behind, too, as my friend. As time went on, and the kind of person he turned out to be revealed itself in peeling, pungent layers, it became obvious to me that he was not the mentor and friend I thought he was. Twice during my MFA in Writing studies at Vermont College professors prefaced their criticism of my work with statements like: “Now, I’m not the kind of teacher who will criticize your work out of jealousy…or to make my work look better…” I had never given thought to something like this. I always maintained, for right or wrong, the posture of an unknowing, subservient, and eager student to my professors. My pomposity, if it came out against a professor, did so only after a good bit of time had gone by.

I’ve always thought that this was what Peter’s attitude with me was about. We met a day or two after I moved to the Berkshires and I sent a postcard to The Berkshire Writers Room, expressing my interest in becoming a part of a writers community. Peter met my wife and me at our local Barnes & Noble and we ironed out a plan for me to become a part of things. Now, watching Peter operate since then, listening to the way he talks about people, I can make a fairly accurate educated guess that he saw me as someone who may have been passing through or someone with a strong initial interest, but one that would fizzle with time. He’d figured he’d take a shot. And when it was clear that I became someone who, in his estimation, would rival his leadership and uncover a lot of his flaws, and worst of all, make him feel his age, he decided to do little things that would undermine me or make me seem a lot less competent than he was. While his criticism of my work or my ideas in the beginning of our relationship were given genuinely to help me succeed, his statements and comments at the end were definitely geared to make himself look better.

Then there’s the review, which could have been a fair assessment if it weren’t so sarcastic, and if he didn’t hold a black loathing in his heart for me. I know now that the interview was below my standards, and that this realization is the thing that knocked me down a peg, driven me to write a better one the next time.