Crying.
I hate to cry.
Hate.
My son cries at the drop of a hat. Periodically I notice tears on his face and remember that just 30 seconds ago he was trying to tell me something, some unfortunate thing I had done or failed to do for him: need food Da-da, need sleep, need diaper changing, need you to pick me up, don't need anything just felt like crying, Da-da.
I unfortunately have been acting more like my son these days. And actually I think I have him to blame. I don't think I have wept so openly and in so many public places in my entire life. And there is nothing that pains me more, regardless of whether they are tears of joy or sorrow. I don't have problems with other people's tears or my son's for that matter. In fact his little cry is so endearing that sometimes both us daddies have to chuckle--well that is if he isn't in real pain or distress.
Luckily for me it is easy to mask my tears during the winter months with Kleenex and a faux cold. I found out today that it is pretty easy to shed tears without being discovered while you are running. I mean tears, sweat--who's going to know the difference. And of course I just remembered why I was tearing up during my run at lunch today--something about his mother and the sadness I feel for him and for her (definitely another post). And now I am on the frigging train. Here I am writing this and trying to keep my composure as a few tears start to flow. How painful it would be for someone to lean over and to ask me if I was okay.
I don't know why the disdain for my own tears. It might be vanity--not particularly manly, dignified, or strong of me to cry in public. Okay, so why is a gay man worried about being manly you ask. I am not quite sure. I think maybe it is that men in general are not given permission to shed tears. I know that it has to do with my background. There wasn't a lot of open weeping from the men in my family. I think that has changed as we have gone through difficult experiences together. Still, I remember standing at the foot of my younger brother's grave the day of his funeral. There we all were, my big family struggling with the pain of losing someone close--suddenly, unexpectedly. And there is my great uncle, this little ancient gray-haired man from the old country. He comes up to me and grabs my arm and says, "You need to be strong for the family." What are we Mafioso now? In other words stop your crying you big cry baby. I was annoyed with him but I understood: it is their way on that side of the family.
Well the composure that I might have had back then has all but disappeared in the last six months. Since Ty came to us, my heart seems to not only be on my sleeve, but my lapel, my cuff, my pant-leg, even my shoe laces. What is that all about? Is this some kind of strange hormonal response? I don't remember testosterone acting like that. There have been a couple of times, okay, several times when Darrow and I have been hovering over his crib while he was sleeping and one or both of us just ended up in tears. Is it like this for everyone? I have the feeling that more fathers than would care to admit have similar experiences. So I am trying to embrace this new emotional reality, but I am also hoping that it subsides a little the longer I am a Dad. I know that there is nothing wrong with me or shedding tears in public. I think I prefer a mushy dad to the stoic unemotional dad any day. I just don't think I will ever get used to it--being a cry baby.
--J
