Cry Baby Cry
Woke up this morning with tears streaming down my face and I have absolutely no idea why. I had been dreaming–an interesting little gathering of people broken up into two groups, one of which was very serious and one of which moved from hilarious to trivial often enough that I would find it necessary to join one group and then the other, back and forth like a butterfly.
Just previous to this I had been sitting with a smaller group or 3 or 4 including me, one of whom was sitting to my right in a yard lounger, upright position: tall, buzzcut, and totally naked. I was averting my eyes so I never saw her face or really got a good look at her nakedness, and it was obvious to me from the manner in which she was expounding that this was Naomi Dunford. Is this normal?
When I woke up the backdoor was open, and Rowan, the boy, was in his room sleeping face down with his knees tucked under, looking like a puppy dog sans wagging tail– I thought to get the camera and I didn’t want to disturb him, so this shall live on in the same foggy hall as my dreamscapes.
Confession time
I only cry at movies. There was a short period of time back in the very early 90’s, that would be ’90 and ’91 to be exact, when I cried very easily. I would cry if I was losing a game of cribbage, for example. I’m sure this was all set and setting, and I’m also sure that those days are no more.
Now I am a stone. Except if you get me sitting in front of a particular sort of movie. Sometimes I can choke back a sob at these things. I gushed when the spaceships took off abandoning ET at the start of that movie, and I cried most recently during Charlotte’s Web, I’m not sure which scene. Some kind of kindness and recognition thing, I’m sure.
That’s what gets me. That and abandonment. Those are the biggies; abandonment and loss, kindness and recognition. Huh. That’s interesting. The proverbial two-sided coin. So what the hell had me going on during the night I have no idea. How I got this way I have a few clues.
Father and Son
My father James was a tough cuss. The sort who would chew nails and shit out tacks, or something like that. If I came home crying because some bully had been picking on me he wouldn’t address the situation in a heartfelt way like “who the hell’s been beating on my son?” Rather, he would admonish me for being a cry baby, and somewhere down the line I resolved never to let him see me cry, so that I wouldn’t have to hear those cursed words. Especially for any of the beatings that he visited upon me for breaking any of the thousands of rules that any young boy with an ounce of spirit is sure to break, like making noise outside on a summer day when your father just happens to be taking a nap. Whatever.
So my proudest moment as a father so far came about six months ago when rowan was being a bit cantankerous and defiant and I looked at him and said “you aren’t afraid of me, are you?” and he said “no!” oh joys of joys! What a blessing! For all of my loud, oafish, yelling ways–for all the manner in which I have displayed my ignorant and unsophisticated emotional inability to deal effectively with disagreement and disobedience, it’s all obviously such an imitative and learned behavior that goes about an inch deep and no further.
The boy is totally unafraid of me because I’m all fit and no hit. Hallelujah! “No fear” begins at home. So I am a successful father having stopped the buck right here and refused to pass it on. Now, what the hell do I do without fear as my trump card, if not my total strategy? Heh. Time will tell.
And this week?
What the hell is my healing plan for this week? Huh. I’ve got more work to do than hours in the day, so I may have to rescind sleep and procrastination if I want to Get Things Done. And yet, ever true to my ways, sleep I will. Put things off I will. And rent a few of that particular type of film that makes me gush I may. What’s the one with the Rastafarian Ghost-of-Christmas-Past dog?
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Mark Silver 05.11.09 at 1:16 pm
Weeping is a fabulous thing. I heartily recommend it over productivity nearly any day of the week.
In fact, I may have a cry with you, if that’s okay…
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Leah 05.11.09 at 1:24 pm
Oh my. Totally loved this post. Thanks, Chas.
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Molly Gordon 05.11.09 at 4:28 pm
Ohmigod, Harvey.
You are crying my song. Or something.
Last year I had a “fear stops here” experience with our grandkids. They were staying over and were snuggled in their sleeping bags on our bedroom floor. I was already in bed, not feeling too well. And the kids talked and laughed and were kid-ish.
I asked them to be quiet and go to sleep several times. Finally (and no, I’m not proud of this) I said: “Lie down. Shut Up. And go to sleep!”
They started to laugh, and then repeated my rant as a mantra.
I realized that they were not afraid of me. And, fortunately, I realized that making them afraid of me was unnecessary, hurtful, and ridiculous.
So I got out of bed and sat down on the floor next to them. I said, “I know your folks enforce bed time. What do they do when you keep talking?”
My grandson piped up, “They separate us.”
So I separated them, receiving their complaints with a grateful smile, and all was well.
For those who did not grow up with the fear factor, this may not be a big deal. But it was huge for me. I’m so grateful for those kidlets!
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chas 05.13.09 at 8:48 am
@Mark: So which is the “nearly” day? And why do I get so many of them? And what about those tearlessly non-productive days? Is a good weeping the answer to blocked productivity? OMG! It’s a new age paradigm shift! From “that boy needs a good whuppin” to “that boy needs a good weepin”. Wow. Thanks for helping me with that brainstorm, Mark!
@Leah: Thanks for your support, Leah. And please do remember that Life energy is Creative energy…We give birth to our creations. They are our children. Yours are beautiful. And well-loved, I’m sure!
@Molly: Wow! Beautiful story! Thanks so much for sharing. Besides the shock that someone so young has grandkids, i’m really impressed with the way you just lay out such an important lesson for parents of all types: We get angry. We yell. And we can stop. Thanks for sharing.
Mark Silver 05.14.09 at 10:50 am
Well, you know, the thunderstorms come through. I had a good one yesterday afternoon. very productive.
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