Back in December, I attended a wonderful musical at the Bushnell in Hartford, called “Come From Away.” It’s the humorous and heartwarming story of a small town that rallied to accommodate 7,000 airline passengers who were stranded for days in Newfoundland, Canada, after their flights were diverted when U.S. airspace was closed in the wake of the September 11th terrorist attacks.
Yes, I realize that a show about 9/11 doesn’t sound heartwarming and humorous. Usually, I would try to explain here why the show is so terrific, but I’ve already tried to explain the show to a few people, and each time after about 10 minutes the other person just stared at me with a puzzled look. So, it’s difficult to explain why this musical is so touching. My advice is sign up for Apple TV+ and watch the performance that was recorded on Broadway. It’s well worth the seven bucks that Apple charges.
Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to discuss. When I attended that show in Hartford, I spent about a third of the time laughing, a third of the time crying, and a third of the time laughing and crying simultaneously. When the show was over, my handkerchief was soaking wet from wiping my eyes steadily for almost two hours. That’s when it dawned on me that I’ve been crying much more frequently of late.
Naturally, I wept for joy when my grandson was born a couple of years ago. And I still get teary-eyed now every time I see him. (Although some of that might be because he enjoys hitting me on the kneecap with a toy truck.)
Things that never got to me before now tug at my heartstrings. For example, a tear always trickles down my cheek whenever I watch one of those sappy TV commercials, such as an “I’ll be home for Christmas” Toyota ad or a “We’ll never forget Grandma” Coke spot. And if I hear Sarah McLachlan’s voice while the image of a puppy appears on the TV screen, I have to immediately change the channel to keep from ending up as a big, blubbering puddle on the living room floor.
Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to discuss. When I attended that show in Hartford, I spent about a third of the time laughing, a third of the time crying, and a third of the time laughing and crying simultaneously. When the show was over, my handkerchief was soaking wet from wiping my eyes steadily for almost two hours. That’s when it dawned on me that I’ve been crying much more frequently of late.
Naturally, I wept for joy when my grandson was born a couple of years ago. And I still get teary-eyed now every time I see him. (Although some of that might be because he enjoys hitting me on the kneecap with a toy truck.)
Things that never got to me before now tug at my heartstrings. For example, a tear always trickles down my cheek whenever I watch one of those sappy TV commercials, such as an “I’ll be home for Christmas” Toyota ad or a “We’ll never forget Grandma” Coke spot. And if I hear Sarah McLachlan’s voice while the image of a puppy appears on the TV screen, I have to immediately change the channel to keep from ending up as a big, blubbering puddle on the living room floor.
It didn’t used to be this way, especially since I’m part of the “Big boys don’t cry” generation. As a kid in the 1960s, crying was the worst thing you could do. Our World War II and Korean War era fathers simply would not stand for that behavior. And the schoolyard bully would never leave you alone if he saw so much as a single tear while he shoved an earthworm up your nostril. If you think having a dirt-covered worm wriggling around your sinuses was uncomfortable, that was nothing compared to having the whole school refer to you as “Cry Baby.” We had to be very stoic back in those days.
I don’t know if getting teary-eyed these days at anything poignant is because I’m now a senior citizen. (To give you an idea, just seeing the word “poignant” in a sentence causes me to get misty.) Maybe since I have so many decades of experiences stored in my memory, I can find a nostalgic angle to just about everything that occurs.
One thing I do know is that the ol’ “Big boys don’t cry” attitude is wrong. Being moved to tears is not a sign of weakness; it’s a sign of a healthy ability to empathize with other human beings (or if it’s one of Sarah’s commercials, puppies).
I don’t know if getting teary-eyed these days at anything poignant is because I’m now a senior citizen. (To give you an idea, just seeing the word “poignant” in a sentence causes me to get misty.) Maybe since I have so many decades of experiences stored in my memory, I can find a nostalgic angle to just about everything that occurs.
One thing I do know is that the ol’ “Big boys don’t cry” attitude is wrong. Being moved to tears is not a sign of weakness; it’s a sign of a healthy ability to empathize with other human beings (or if it’s one of Sarah’s commercials, puppies).
However, I have to admit that tearing up at a Toyota or Coke commercial during a timeout of a UConn basketball game is kind of disconcerting, especially for the other guys with me at the sports bar.
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