Pass The Bag Please

I’ve lamented about this before and now I lament about it again, as usual, on behalf of all wonderfully sensitive men. These are men who can and must relate to the bittersweet, tender, poignant, desperate and noble with their hearts on their sleeves, for all to see.

These men, at least publicly, are few and far between. I know of only one other who works in the Global Montreal office and his identity is safe with me! 

I salute you anonymous sir, soiled tissue in hand.

It’s a curse we carry. Some appreciate us for it. Some, like my wife and son, appreciate us purely for our entertainment value.

I wrote about this in my blog of January 4, 2012, titled "Blubber-Free Zone".

On Friday, movie columnist Eric Cohen reviewed three movies, one of which was “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty”.

I had rented it the Friday before but, in the end, did not have time to watch it. After Eric’s positive review, I decided to rent it again and, today, made time to watch it. Also there for the viewing, my lovely wife, Susan.

The last time she cried in a movie, a horse stubbed its hoof.

As I watched the movie today, there were a couple of times when she shot me a glance to see whether I was crying. Why a man can’t cry in peace in his own home without fear of ridicule from his significant others, boggles me!

As she shot me those probing glances, I’d glance back at her with as emotionless an expression as I could possibly muster, fighting not to betray the emotion inevitably welling up inside me as a result of a scene in the movie.

My fight was going pretty well, but the end of the movie proved too much. I didn’t sob the way I allegedly may or may not have during and after “The Bridges of Madison County”, but tears did fill my eyes. They never rolled out, just filled my eyes to the brim.

Listen to me, struggling to defend myself.

As the last scenes of “Walter Mitty” unfolded, Susan exclaimed, merrily, “You’re crying!”

The battle was lost. My secret was out.

The movie continued a few seconds more and, next thing I know, my son instantly appeared in front of me, as though beamed directly from the Starship Enterprise! He was grinning delightedly, as I sat there on the couch.

My wife had sent him a text message that I was crying and he came running from his room to gawk!

What’s a man to do? What’s a sensitive, thoughtful man to do?

All I can do is keep my head up and, as we discuss movie choices, push for the action movies, although even some action movies have included overly stirring and touching scenes.

I think the safest option for me is a bag over my head.

Not a paper one, obviously; it would get too soggy too fast.