Cry Baby

When I was growing up I was a certified cry baby. I cried at the drop of a hat. Someone looked at me the wrong way and I cried. I couldn't control it. Anything even remotely upsetting caused tears to well up in my eyes and that telltale lump to rise in my throat. I tried my hardest to control it but it was useless.

Kids would call me a "cry baby". Adults would say "Why are you crying?" or "Don't cry". As a result I tried even harder to keep the crying in which made it worse.

In second grade a boy took my favorite pencil and as I tried to wrestle it back from him I began to cry. As a result the teacher removed gold stars from the cardboard turtle on the wall that had my name on it. This of course made me cry even harder. In fourth grade the entire class was punished and kept in from recess, made to sit for half an hour and write the definition of the word "silence" over and over on a sheet of loose leaf paper. Because I'd been excited about my mom being "yard duty parent" that day, I began to cry. I sobbed the entire time I wrote my punishment and the teacher finally sent me to the principal's office, where my mother and the principal were waiting, not quite sure what to do with me. I was sent back to the classroom humiliated because I'd cried in front of the whole class.

Every now and then another kid would cry about something and I'd feel vindicated, but not for long. No one seemed to cry as much as I did.

As I got older I stifled it more and more. I became less expressive about my feelings lest I erupt into unintentional waterworks at the wrong time. I had a few outbursts as I got older, especially embarrassing as a high school and college student, but quickly managed to control those as I entered adulthood.

Most of us as adults try our hardest not to cry in front of others. Many people feel uncomfortable when someone around them starts to cry. We don't know what to do - should we look the other way in case the person is embarrassed by their crying? Should we console them or would that be getting too close and personal? Crying becomes a thing that adults try to avoid, only doing it when no one else is around or trying their hardest to cover it up, blinking hard, coughing, anything to stifle the onslaught of tears and gasps.

Two weeks ago I attended a conference with my sister put on by the company of the nutritional program we've been following. There were definitely some tear jerking moments during those two days, brought on by such things as the story of a child with leukemia who got to go to Disney World with his family through Make a Wish and people in the audience telling their stories about their struggles with health, weight, finances, etc. that had brought them there to begin with. I noticed people around me surreptitiously wiping their eyes and sniffling, a room full of over a thousand people trying to control their emotions.

Later during that second day I was walking my sister to the train station when I suggested we stop for happy hour. This weekend had been a rare opportunity for us to hang out sans husbands and kids, something we rarely do. We sidled up to the bar, ordered some beers and had the kind of conversations sisters have when they've grown up together, shared experiences together, including close personal tragedy and joy. We talked about our kids, reminisced about childhood stuff, bantered with the bartender who overheard my sister mention that she wanted to read a book our dad had always recommended called "Who Moved My Cheese?" The bartender said he'd read the book in high school and that it had changed his life.

Something shifted inside me during that visit to the bar. My life with my sister flashed before my eyes and I saw us as kids rolling around in my bed together, sharing so many things you can only share with someone if you live in the same house, share the same parents and history. As I said goodbye to her on a street corner in Chinatown, I realized with a lurch that I wouldn't see her for a month or two. Gone were the days when we could just run into each others rooms and see each other whenever we wanted. Those days have been gone for quite some time, but I never really think about it that way.

As I turned and walked away these feelings hit me like a ton of bricks and I started to cry. Not just tiny little tears but serious crying. Sobbing, really. I was glad I'd worn a big pair of dark sunglasses because I cried for the next two blocks, tears streaming down my face, mouth quivering, throat jumping. I cried like I hadn't cried in years. I cried the way I sometimes cry when I'm in the shower and no one can hear me or in the car when a song comes on that reminds me of my dad and how I'll never see him in this world again. I think I cried all the way home.

It felt good. We all need that kind of a cry every now and then.

I'm a cry baby and I'm proud of it.