On an old episode of THE MONKEES, the boys were discussing the sensitivity of their fellow band mate Peter Tork when one of them declares,
"He cries at card tricks."
That's me all over these days, a living testament to the belief that men cry more as they get older. I own it. If there's anything that involves my grandkids, I'll blubber openly and be proud of it. The world can be a sad place, especially lately and my empathy will work overtime in reaction to horrible tragedy in the world. But it can also be therapeutic. I am not immune to its healing abilities even it involves welling up my tear ducts and letting the waterworks flow. I have found that my reactions as of late have become increasingly unpredictable.
Music is always a trigger. If Johnny Cash's rendition of "Hurt" plays, I'm an instant wreck especially with the lyric:
What I become, my sweetest friend
Everyone I know goes away in the end
The video for "Hurt" cuts to June Carter on "my sweetest friend" and my mind immediately goes to her passing just before Johnny's. He died four months later.
James Taylor's "Fire and Rain" conjures immediate images of 9/11 since I saw him play this at a benefit for First Responders following the tragedy.
There's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the grounds.
I'm weeping as I type those words right now.
And something as innocuous as Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" or Donna Lewis' "I Love You Always Forever" hits me on a personal level, choking me up once again. Recently, little ditties like "Home" by Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros or Moonshine Willie's "Dig a Little Deeper", both of which remind me of the love of my life who is my wife who sometimes tells not to "get all weepy".
I like to think I'm above cheap sentimentality, but I guess I'm not. I hate obvious pulls at the heartstrings and I have a tendency to pull back. When something as well done as the recent WONDER movie comes along, I'll go all in willingly. Sometimes the power of joy moves me and seeing THE BOOK OF MORMON, not a tear jerker in the least, hit the "Wah!" button. That could have been the culmination of the whole experience since it was my first Broadway show in that magical New York summer. Hey, this summer, I even got a little misty eyed at this.
That's me all over these days, a living testament to the belief that men cry more as they get older. I own it. If there's anything that involves my grandkids, I'll blubber openly and be proud of it. The world can be a sad place, especially lately and my empathy will work overtime in reaction to horrible tragedy in the world. But it can also be therapeutic. I am not immune to its healing abilities even it involves welling up my tear ducts and letting the waterworks flow. I have found that my reactions as of late have become increasingly unpredictable.
Music is always a trigger. If Johnny Cash's rendition of "Hurt" plays, I'm an instant wreck especially with the lyric:
What I become, my sweetest friendEveryone I know goes away in the end
The video for "Hurt" cuts to June Carter on "my sweetest friend" and my mind immediately goes to her passing just before Johnny's. He died four months later.
James Taylor's "Fire and Rain" conjures immediate images of 9/11 since I saw him play this at a benefit for First Responders following the tragedy.
There's hours of time on the telephone line to talk about things to come
Sweet dreams and flying machines in pieces on the grounds.
I'm weeping as I type those words right now.
And something as innocuous as Rod Stewart's "Forever Young" or Donna Lewis' "I Love You Always Forever" hits me on a personal level, choking me up once again. Recently, little ditties like "Home" by Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros or Moonshine Willie's "Dig a Little Deeper", both of which remind me of the love of my life who is my wife who sometimes tells not to "get all weepy".
I like to think I'm above cheap sentimentality, but I guess I'm not. I hate obvious pulls at the heartstrings and I have a tendency to pull back. When something as well done as the recent WONDER movie comes along, I'll go all in willingly. Sometimes the power of joy moves me and seeing THE BOOK OF MORMON, not a tear jerker in the least, hit the "Wah!" button. That could have been the culmination of the whole experience since it was my first Broadway show in that magical New York summer. Hey, this summer, I even got a little misty eyed at this.
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| Olympian weightlifter Ryan Crouser's tribute to his grandpa |
I've always been sensitive, but as time rolls on, it's been rising to the surface on almost a daily basis. But I accept this and sometimes embrace it.
I'm not made of stone. I am not a rock. I am not an island.
Just don't mistake my weepiness for weakness.
Now pass the Kleenex or I'll slap the snot outta ya.
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