It was the Sunday of Memorial Day and my Scouts were participating in a flag ceremony and the reading of the honored war dead. We were halfway into the names when I tasted something salty on my cheek and realized that I was openly crying. It was likely the combination of emotions that got to me, my gratitude for the sacrifices made for my freedom, my patriotism swelling inside of me, the pride I felt for the job my Scouts had done that day, and of course the thanks I felt for all of God's blessings, but there was no excuse for it, I was crying. I used the back of my hand to hide any evidence of it, and got myself under control, but later thought of the many times in my life and events that had and hadn't brought tears.
I was born, like most kids, crying. Unlike most kids, however, I kept that particular skill for a lot longer than nature intended. You don't mind being called a crybaby at 2, but at 12, it's a lot different.
I cried when I discovered my dog died, or more correctly, my dead dog. My brother Ace had gotten up before me, so he actually discovered that the dog died. I, later on, stumbled on the back porch eating my morning Buckwheats and happened to look into a vacuum cleaner box that was there, and it was then that I discovered my dead dog, lying on her back four feet sticking up, in full rigor. Now, I can laugh about it, but back then, I cried. My Dad's cure was to take me to the farm and have me dig the grave for the dog (Incidentally this is two weeks in a row, that I am blogging on dead animals being buried, I really need to get out of this rut).
I don't cry a lot at funerals. I have buried many Aunts and Uncles, my Father, and even a Brother, but I really didn't cry at those times. In most the cases, I knew they were in a better place, or had lived good lives, so I did not dwell on the passing, but on what they had left. When my dad died, there were a lot of preparations that had to be made, so I pitched in and helped and put the sadness aside for a while, but you can't always avoid it. Months later, I passed my Dad's old truck and started to wave to him, and when the realization hit me that it couldn't ever be him again, passing me, I had to pull over to let the emotion pass.
Many years passed before I cried again, and it was at my wedding. I couldn't believe that this incredible, intelligent, vivacious person would commit herself to me, for life, until the very moment she said the words, "I do". Those were tears that I do not regret. I can actually sum up the rest of my tears pretty quickly after that. I didn't cry at the birth of our kids, but I might have at Kindergarten graduation. If you are surprised at that, consider that all they had to do for the first one was slide down the birth canal, but the graduation took actual effort.
|See, he's a good dog, why shoot him?|