Long after Salinger sent me away, I continued to believe his standards and expectations were the best ones.

Not only did I avoid speaking of Salinger; I resisted thinking about him. I did not reread his letters to me. The experience had been too painful.

No, I said. I didn't remember that. There was so much to remember, sometimes the best thing was to forget.

The vehemence with which certain critics have chosen not simply to criticize what I've written, but to challenge my writing this story at all, speaks of what the book is about: fear of disapproval.

My job is writing. I get paid to do it. When was the last time you heard someone challenge a doctor for making money off of cancer?

I have no doubt that over the years my children will find plenty of things about me to criticize. But something tells me that twenty years from now not one of them will sit on some therapist's couch complaining because their mother didn't spend enough time vacuuming up glitter.

I continued to protect him with my silence.