The Dust Did Roar

I was always a very sensitive kid.

That’s what being an only child will do to you.

I cried all the time. Particularly when I lost a fight in Judo. I didn’t want to cry. I really didn’t. It just happened. I knew it was pathetic and that the right thing was to take the loss ‘like a man’.

I think that’s why, as I’ve gotten older, I became so afraid of crying. It always felt like a sign of weakness for others to use as a reason to dismiss me.

Many years went past without a single tear except, perhaps, in solitude when watching an episode of Friday Night Lights.

Last year was probably the worst year of my life. Eventually, at a breaking point and in the middle of one of my few truly depressive episodes, I let myself cry. And it felt good.

Then I lost my furry best friend and I cried again.

But a couple weeks ago, at a good friend’s wedding, I experienced something that I hadn’t before.

Happy tears.

It’s true that they began with the mention of a tragic loss in my friend’s life, they soon became more because of the honest and real display of love before me, and the gratefulness I felt to be amongst so many close friends and loved ones.

Someone passed me a tissue and for the first time, I didn’t feel shame for crying in front of others.

Turns out the old adage is right.

Boys don’t cry.

But Men do.