What’s a sensitive man supposed to do?
My wife and son are personified cacti; not quite heartless, but not quite human, either.
They will not cry during poignant parts of movies or television shows. Are they lunkheads who don’t understand the significance of emotional moments? I’m beginning to think that’s a strong possibility. Forgotten by evolution, they prefer to mock what they cannot understand.
I, being the sensitive human in the household, am forced to fight back my tears, or face belittlement, humiliation and mockery.
A shame, isn't it?
Here's an example of what I'm forced to endure. Several months ago, when nephew Ryan came over, Susan and Tristan urged him to keep a close eye on my face as we watched the television show, “Undercover Boss”. When did I become a spectacle? They might as well have me pacing inside a cage behind a bronze plaque that reads, “Endangered Sensitive Man”!
If I offer even the slightest hint that I might be getting choked-up, one barely visible bottom lip quiver, Susan and Tristan begin circling like giggling sharks, waiting for the first involuntary spasm or the tiniest telltale secretion from my tear ducts!
Christmas morning, opening presents, Susan gave Tristan and I tickets to a hockey game. We were both pretty stoked! Tristan gave me a cool Expos hat. Then, after having secretly collected pictures and artwork for several weeks, Susan gave me a wonderful, personalized book, documenting Tristan’s development from birth to now. Many of the same pictures also document my incidental development as a father.
I politely flipped through three pages before losing it! This photo clearly captures the moment when the party really took-off.
Well, as soon as I began tearing up, the eye rolls and guffaws came pouring down! Even on Christmas morning, no one's safe! Again, what’s a sensitve man supposed to do?
Quite inexplicably, I've been deposited in a blubber-free zone.
Human emotion can be a wonderful thing, but just try to explain that to the gargoyles.