Real men cry - Web Development

I saw a man cry…and it was beautiful!

Returning home from a stroll last night, I saw my neighbor, John sitting alone on his porch looking very unhappy. I was immediately worried because John is one of the nicest men I know. So, I sat next to him and asked if someone dear to him had passed away. He replied no, and quickly apologized for his sad countenance, “I’m sorry if I scared you”.

“That’s OK, but, what’s the matter?”

“I was on my way to a meeting, and I drove past my old house,” he explained. “It looks so different from two decades ago. The house, the neighborhood, everything has changed for the worst.”

I watched as pools of tears began to form on his bottom eyelids. I’ve learned a lot about people through watching them, talking to them and listening to them. Mostly, I’ve learned to let people talk. And talk was just what I let John do.

He recounted how excited he and his wife had been to buy that house. It was their first home, and she had labored to make it look beautiful. “A lot has changed since then,” John said, stopping to wipe away his tears. “My wife died, I sold the house, and our kids got married. Somehow, seeing the house looking so atrocious really ruined my day.”

I tried to comfort him. “Our hearts never really leave a place, no matter how far we go,” I said. “You’ve done well for yourself and your family. You own this nice house, and you have a lovely lady companion and cute grand-kids.”

He sighed, “I know, but it hasn’t been easy”.

“John, could it be that you’re worried about your mortality or the legacy that you will leave behind?”

He thought about it, then chuckled, “Funny you should mention that, Toni. My birthday is in two weeks and we’re having our 50th high school re-union next month. There’s so much that i want to do and i don’t know how much time i have left.”

Ah! Ah! There it was. It wasn’t so much about the change. Nothing ever remains the same. The real question behind John’s pain was, “How much of life is about making a living and how much is about making a mark?” I don’t have the answer, but I’m glad that on that sobering evening, John was not alone on his porch. He cried in front of me, and it was not pathetic. It was endearing.

Society has taught us that “real men don’t cry”. If men constantly ignore, repress or drug these powerful feelings, how can we be surprised when they suddenly break through their internal cages and disrupt our lives?