I am a crier. I cry when I am happy. I cry when I am sad. I cry when I watch coffee commercials wherein big brothers come home to their little sisters. I cry…
I cry when I watch inspiring stories like Jim Abbott. Did you see him on CBS Sunday Morning this week? The man was born with one “tiny hand” and he becomes a pro-baseball pitcher. I think that blows my getting the dishes done despite my fatigue out of the water! I am inspired by him and yes, he makes me cry.
I cry in movies. I cry in inspiring films, like “Rudy”. Similar to Jim Abbott, this true story makes me feel like I can do anything. I dare you to watch Rudy carried off on the shoulders of his Notre Dame teammates and not cry. I dare you.
I cry when I see sad movies. And this, ladies and gentlemen, is not pretty. I don’t just sniff. Tears stream and I choke up causing a great deal of throat clearing. And my nose runs like a faucet. Only one word describes it — UGLY! When I was 12, I saw “Terms of Endearment”. I got hysterical! I have never recovered from watching Debra Winger on her death bed telling her son, “I know you like me. I know it. For the last year or two, you’ve been pretending like you hate me. I love you very much. I love you as much as I love anybody, as much as I love myself. And in a few years when I haven’t been around to be on your tail about something or irritating you, you could… remember that time that I bought you the baseball glove when you thought we were too broke. You know? Or when I read you those stories? Or when I let you goof off instead of mowing the lawn? Lots of things like that. And you’re gonna realize that you love me. And maybe you’re gonna feel badly, because you never told me. But don’t – I know that you love me. So don’t ever do that to yourself, all right?” It killed me before I was a mom and now, devastation!
When I was 18, I saw “Steel Magnolias”. I went with my Big Sister in my sorority and somehow missed among the commercials of Olympia Dukakis and Dolly Parton antics that (unnecessary spoiler alert) Julia dies! Bawled and bawled next to a girl who didn’t shed a tear. A little embarrassing…
Last week, I saw “The House of Sand and Fog”. I had a rare afternoon home alone and it came on cable. It had always been on my list — the cast is impeccable. But the fact that it starred Jennifer Connelly should have been a clue. She is the poster child for depressing films (“Requiem for a Dream” — enough said.). And this one was a full box of Kleenex weeper. Do not watch this film if you are feeling at all sad, lonely, or potentially suicidal. I’m not kidding. If you are not crying at the end of this movie, you should have your tear ducts examined. Nobody is happy at the end of this film.
Sadly (pun semi-intended), that is not the limit of tears. I cry at cornball, silly movies. I cry when overly handsome leading men finally realize that they are in love with supposedly frumpy but obviously gorgeous leading ladies. When Julia Roberts says that she wants the fairy tale, I am nodding in agreement. When Renee Zellweger says, “you had me at hello”, I wonder why it took that long!
So, yes, I am a crier.
I cry at plays. I just saw “The Laramie Project”. It is a play using actual interviews and transcripts following the murder of Matthew Shepard. It is a three act play and at the end of the second act, I was already crying and I came unprepared. The woman next to me leaned over and said, “here”. She handed me a napkin from Subway. “Sorry, that’s all I’ve got…” Well, thank goodness for that Subway napkin. It was shredded by the end of Act 3.
I cry. Did I say that?
I cry at the news. There is enough out there to cry about. I cry at tragedies. I also cry at those “Making a Difference” segments. And man, have a soldier mom or dad surprising his or her child at school after an overseas tour… hello Waterworks!
I cry at birthdays and funerals. Parties and dirges. I cry. It’s part of who I am. Are you a crier? What turns your tears on?