I don’t suffer from Writer’s Block…ever. Words are my friends and family. Really, the words that I write here are often effortless and shared with ease. Most of the time the quality of my work is solid but it would be untrue for me to say that it never falls short of the mark. But since I like to use the blog as a cyber sandbox I rarely edit or modify these posts.
Some might say that is a mistake, especially since the blog has led to many freelance writing jobs. Some might say that I tarnish my reputation and damage my online resume by not taking care to cull the weaker posts from the field. But I don’t work that way. I don’t hide my blemishes from me which means that I don’t hide them from you. Those posts help me strengthen and improve my skills so I prefer to keep them where they are easily accessible. Besides it feels more authentic to me.
It is also tied into why I sometimes like to dig through the archives here. Seven years of posting has provided a treasure chest of material to read. Some of it is quite good and some of it is awful, dreadfully bad. Today I find myself revisiting the topic of men and emotions- more specifically whether men cry or not.
Earlier this week the dark haired beauty wandered into my bedroom and was shocked by what she thought she saw. I had just using some eye drops and had accidentally squeezed too hard on the bottle sending a stream of it rushing down my cheeks. Since she walked in prior to my wiping my face she grew quite concerned and asked me why I was crying. I assured her that I wasn’t crying but she decided that I was lying about it and told me not to be embarrassed.
She hasn’t ever read The Tears That Do not Fall so she is unfamiliar with that story. Maybe she remembered the conversation we had here or maybe not. I can say that some things have changed there somewhat, but not so much that she didn’t press me on this.
I looked down at her and thanked for her concern and received a very stern lecture about being honest. I suppose that it wasn’t fair of me, but I couldn’t help laughing. She was very sweet and I am more than appreciative of her concern about my welfare. So I thanked her again and told her not to worry. Moments later I heard her whispering to her brother, “daddy’s crying.” And then I learned that in his old age he is becoming far more clever as he made a point to tell her to close the door so that I couldn’t hear them speaking.
For a moment I remained seated on my bed and then I decided that I wanted to know more about their discussion. Slowly I tiptoed over towards the bedroom door only to hear my son say, ” we can hear you dad.”
Damn, the little man has learned more of my tricks than I had realized. That is the sort of thing that makes you smile with pride and grimace with frustration. I am not an eavesdropper. I don’t go snooping around but I do pay attention to what they do/say. I am dad and that is part of my job. Really, if I emailed you the job description you would see it listed there.
But I do wonder about this a bit. I am not a ‘cryer.’ It is not something that people see with me. I get sad and upset like everyone else. I just don’t shed tears easily. But what I wonder a bit is what sort of impact that has on the children, especially my son. I am very affectionate with them. I don’t run around telling him to ‘man up’ or try to make crying seem weak.Â But then again there have been times where I told him that life isn’t fair and to just ‘suck it up.’ So I wonder if I am sending mixed messages. My gut says no, but sometimes I am wrong.
Of course that is rare and infrequent, but it does happen every now and then.Â I wonder though what would happen if they saw me cry. Would it scare them because it is so out of character or would they just take it in stride. Have to think about it a bit.