I thought I was asking people to review the book.
One of them ended up reviewing me.
During my interview with Madison, we returned to Madison’s Rule, the no-electronics dinner rule she had introduced years earlier.
Book 1 already told that story.
This time, the important part was what happened when Madison corrected my memory of how well I had followed it.
Near the end of the interview, I said, “I observe your rule for the most part. I think I was pretty religious about that.”
Madison laughed.
“Sure! I think there’s some confirmation bias!”
“Okay, all right. Okay, we’ll skip that.”
That was my actual response.
It was funny. It was also revealing.
I genuinely remembered myself as cooperative.
Madison remembered something different.
According to her, Chrystina and I might put the phone down for a second and then pick it right back up.
That was not exactly the picture I had of myself.
It was also not exactly the picture I would have chosen to put in a book for my children and grandchildren.
The father writing about family dinners and being present would sound better if he were also the disciplined parent who faithfully followed the rule.
Madison did not remember it that way.
There is something humbling about having your child correct the story you tell about yourself.
Her memory was not automatically right and mine wrong. Memory is imperfect. Two people can live through the same moment and remember it differently.
But I had asked for her perspective.
If I only accepted the parts that made me look good, then I was not really asking for feedback. I was asking for confirmation.
And if I cut the uncomfortable part after she had just called my memory “confirmation bias,” I would be doing exactly what she had teased me about.
So I left it in.
I changed the Book 1 passage to show that I had not always been as cooperative as I remembered. Madison’s correction became part of the story.
It made me look a little worse.
I think it made the book better.