Lessons from Dad: ‘Thank You’ and ‘You’re Welcome’ never go out of style.

It’s a personal pet peeve. And a reflection on workplace etiquette and civility.

In other words, it’s a blog BOGO for folks like me who like to write, and who care about the little ways professionals treat one another in a work setting.

First, a bit of context.

My dad, who died about 18 months ago, was simply the most decent person I have ever known. He lived most of his life in my hometown in southeastern Indiana. It wasn’t a big life by the typical standards one uses to measure such things, but it was full.

He worked hard, advancing beyond the normal boundary of his high school education to create a solid, if not spectacular, career in IT (or data processing as it was called in those days) for two large companies. He helped raise two kids and pointed them in the direction of college — my sister and I were the first members of the Land family to earn degrees, and my daughter remains the only other member to do so.

Always the devoted husband, he cared first and foremost about my mom’s well-being even has he laid in a nursing home dying from the cancer that had gone undetected until it was ravaging his bladder, bones and lungs.

He was quick to laugh, slow to anger. Loyal to his friends and kind to everyone he met.

Among the many lessons he taught me without trying was that little kindnesses matter. That it’s important to show appreciation for the help you receive.

That niceties such as “please” and “thank you” never go out of style.

I’ve been reflecting on this last point more than usual lately, as I’m in a period of career transition that has me talking to a lot of folks while exploring possible opportunities.

In the last two months, I have met (virtually) with no fewer than 50 people at four different institutions to share my career story and discuss communications and marketing roles. In virtually every case, the meetings were enjoyable: I like “talking shop” and many of the exchanges were enlightening.

After each session, I followed the same routine. I would gather the e-mail addresses of everyone with whom I had just chatted and write short, individual notes thanking them for their time and, whenever possible, offering a personalized observation related to their part of the discussion we had just finished.

Just a few sentences. No big deal. The 21st century version of the thank you notes I was taught in my college career prep course to mail after a job interview.

Simply an acknowledgement that I know the value of time and that I appreciated the time others had spent with me.

Want to take a guess how many responses I have received to those 50-odd notes? About 15. One in three.

What does that say about the other two-thirds? Maybe not much. Could be that they are just really busy, although the two quickest and most gracious responses I’ve received have been from a college president and a university system’s top academic officer — both of whom I imagine have a fair amount on their plates.

Perhaps they are worried about offering false encouragement. Maybe we all get so many e-mails a day that we have stopped looking at most of them.

Heck, it could be that some found me annoying (they wouldn’t be first to fall into the category).

The truth, I suspect is simply that they didn’t think it was important enough to warrant a response.

And that’s disappointing — both on a basic human level and for what it says about their professional interactions, which is this: “There isn’t anything you can do for me right now, so I’m not going to bother with you.”

None of this is the end of the world, I’ll grant you. Maybe my notions of “please, thank you and you’re welcome” are outdated relics from my dad’s time.

And to be clear, this phenomenon isn’t limited to interactions with people we’ve only met once on a Zoom screen. We all know colleagues whose e-mail is a digital black hole — what flows into it never seems to find its way out. Unless, of course, they need something from you. (That’s a whole different class of rudeness worthy of discussion on another rainy day.)

In this case, I’d wager the majority of the non-respondents would be a bit mortified to learn that their inaction had left a mark on the sender, if only a temporary one. After all, virtually every individual with whom I’ve chatted in these recent meetings was warm, engaging and polite in person.

Still, if you ascribe to the “little things matter” school of professional etiquette as I do, taking 30, or even 60, seconds to rap out a sentence or two acknowledging someone’s courtesy seems like a small price to pay to maintain a connection. Who knows where that connection may lead, or when you may find yourself needing to reach out to the sender for help with something yourself.

It’s also telling, I think, that those quickest to respond often are those highest on the organizational chart, who could be most easily forgiven for not having the time to respond.

They seem to understand that others are always watching their actions — or inaction — and are aware of setting the right tone from the top. Could it also be that this degree of common courtesy is a sign of the high level of emotional intelligence needed to succeed as a leader?

Just a thought.

Thanks for taking the time read. I promise to respond to any comments you may have.

Dad would expect nothing less.