Dear Son, Rules to the Crying Game

John Fountain and his newborn son sleeping at home 13 years ago.

A letter to my 13-year-old son

By John W. Fountain

Dear son, don’t believe the lie: Big boys do cry.

Except, there are unwritten rules to this “crying game” as a member of the male human species. The rules can be confusing–like this whole business of growing from boy into man in this journey that you–that we–have just begun.

You see, while some may interpret your tears merely as an expression of emotion or caring, many of your male peers will see your tears as weakness–as an invitation for teasing, sometimes even bullying. They can be merciless.

Son, the sad reality is that for many of us men, tearless eyes form the mask we sometimes wear to protect ourselves, to ward off enemies. It is unfortunately a curse of masculinity in a world where too often men are measured by “toughness,” by physical strength and force, by our ability to take the pain and keep it moving, to not cry.

Even if laid out on a football field on a stretcher, they’ll say, “Raise an arm and flash a thumbs-up.”

“What a stud,” they’ll say. “What a man.”

Except the true measure of a man is the size of your heart, your good name, integrity and character.

And yet, to shed tears in public, especially when emotionally wounded or even deeply moved, can sometimes be like inviting sharks to blood-infested waters.

I wish it were not this way. But this is one of the walls we must fortify as you move toward manhood–sealing the ducts of your boyhood tears.

What I’m saying is: Son, you cannot cry at the drop of a dime. Cannot shed tears every time someone hurts your feelings or you lose a game. You cannot pout.

You can no longer put on that cute, sad face with crocodile tears swelling in your brown eyes that makes your mama come running.

That will only make the fellas ridicule you. Respect you less. See you as being “weak.” Make you a potential target.

Son, you must learn to sometimes suck it up. Push past the pain, hold back the tears, at least until you have gotten to a “safe” place to cry: At home. Behind closed doors. Away from public view and potential ridicule.

It’s crazy, I know. Even as I write, I am saddened about this whole matter, moved almost to tears that this is your burden to bear. I am aware that this talk was not one that I had to give to your sister, aware that crying is only human.

And yet, I also know firsthand the potential repercussions for a boy, for a man, perceived to be too quick to cry.

Still, I can’t help but wonder if the “inability” to cry does not fuel the statistics of black men consumed by alcoholism, drugs and prison; whether a kind of emotional numbness does not lead so many of us down a one-way path to self-destruction, to a silent hemorrhaging of the soul; or whether tearless little boys in a world so littered with heartache and pain don’t grow up to be murderous, zombie-like creatures, so heartless, so cold.

So what am I saying, son?

That sometimes, you will cry. That you must cry. For tears are connected to the soul.

I cried when you were born.

Sometimes, the tears swell in your eyes, overtake you and overflow. And that’s not a sign of weakness, son, but a sign of wellness–a sign that you’re only a man.

Email: Author@johnwfountain.com
Website: http://www.johnwfountain.com