Telling the Truth: Good or Bad?
Being honest is an essential aspect of friendship, even if speaking the truth may sever the relationship.
Chana Shapiro is an educator, writer, editor and illustrator whose work has appeared in journals, newspapers and magazines. She is a regular contributor to the AJT.
I found a large ceramic bowl with a fabulous glaze in a specialty shop in New York. The boutique was known for its one-of-a-kind wares, and I immediately thought of Sarah, a close friend who had an affinity for unique handcrafted pottery. I bought it and brought it to her apartment for a Chanukah gift. Sarah oohed and aahed when she opened the surprise, proclaiming, “I love it!” I was proud that I had found the perfect gift.
Gracie, a mutual friend, invited me for brunch a few months later, and guess what I spotted on her bookshelf: I was sure it was the bowl I’d given Sarah. “What a beautiful bowl!” I remarked, “Where did you get it?” Gracie smiled, “Sarah gave it to me. She said it wasn’t her taste.”
I wish Sarah had told me the truth and given me a chance to return or exchange the bowl, I thought. I took a few deep, cleansing breaths and mulled over whether to confront Sarah. Why had Sarah lied to me? I had always believed that true friends always tell each other the truth.
The next morning, I called Sarah. Here’s a bit of advice: 1. Pre-coffee mornings are not the best time to share emotions; 2. Carefully choose your closing sentence before slamming down the phone. 3. Don’t slam down the phone. “I saw the bowl I gave you at Gracie’s house,” I reported. “Don’t tell me you didn’t want to hurt my feelings. True friends always tell each other the truth.” Slam!
My phone rang several days later. “I’m coming over,” Sarah declared.
“You know that thing about the bowl? Are you still mad at me?” she began. I tried to explain, “I could have exchanged it for something you’d like better. I thought we were close enough to tell each other the truth.”
“We are close friends. I don’t want this to end our friendship.” Sarah looked contrite and teary, and I think she understood my friendship-honesty belief.
Then I remembered the time I sewed my own dress to wear at a relative’s wedding. Our upstairs neighbor, Edie, told me it looked great; therefore, I decided to wear the homemade dress instead of another one I had bought. At the reception, my cousin whispered, “People are making jokes about your crazy dress.” I wished Edie, who had an excellent sense of societal do’s and don’ts, had advised me that a bold ethnic print was not the best choice to wear at a traditional Jewish wedding. Later, Edie confessed that she almost nixed the dress, but she didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
That memory underscored my conviction that being honest is an essential act of friendship.
A few years later, we moved to a new area of the city. For my birthday I didn’t want presents, but one new neighbor, Malkie, a needlework devotee, presented me with a piece she had crafted, that read, “Live, Laugh, Love.”
“I had you in mind when I bought the kit,” she said, solemnly. I knew it had taken her a long time to complete the project, and I was honored that she associated me with those three embroidered words. But I didn’t really like it, and I couldn’t think of any place in our home I’d want to hang it. I considered this woman to be the closest friend I had made in the new neighborhood, and I certainly didn’t want to hurt her; however, “Live, Laugh, Love,” seemed generic enough to be appropriate for someone else, so I decided to tell Malkie the truth.
I knocked on her door the next day, holding the embroidered gift. “I want to tell you the truth,” I yammered. “I’m touched that you made this for me, but it’s not my kind of wall art. I’m returning it, so someone else can have it. I’m sure a lot of your friends would love it.” Malkie looked at me in silence for a long minute. “OK, just give it back,” she stated. “I’ll keep it, even though I made it just for you.” Then she turned and went inside.
I felt terrible. I had hurt a friend by sticking to my honesty rule, and in my heart, I knew I was wrong. When I knocked on Malkie’s door again, she didn’t answer. I called her, planning to leave a message, but she answered, “Would it have killed you to pretend to like the embroidery?” she asked. Then she hung up.
I wish I had feigned delight and not told Malkie my true feelings when she gave me her embroidery. But, on the other hand, I do wish Sarah had told me the truth, and Edie definitely should have been honest about my improper dress. It’s too bad that telling the truth isn’t a one-size-fits-all attribute. It depends.
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