A Time To Cry

I've said before that I'm not a crier, and really, it's true.

Oh I have my moments, like anybody else, but I really try to avoid or forestall tears whenever possible. I don't honestly know why I dislike crying so much, but I'm sure there's some psychology to blame.

It just seems so....female.

And I suppose that deep down I really feel that hyper feminine emotional displays of any kind just feed all the stereotypes pertaining to women, and lend validation to the belief that we are inferior to men in terms of strength and character.

If there's one thing I hate, it's perpetuating a cliché.

So I just don't do it.

I have a core of steel, baby. Tears do not support that reality.

Steel wrapped around creamy white marshmallow fluff, that is.

I'm a sap, if you want to know the honest truth. Everything gets me. And the fact is, if I let even the tiniest drop of moisture escape from my eyes, it's all over. I become a big, heaving, wailing, snot-nosed, puffy-eyed mess. Nobody wants to see that.

So I just don't do it.

Plus, as any woman who has ever found herself bursting into angry tears in the midst of a of a disagreement knows, an argument won because one's opponent is paralyzed by guilt and fear in the face of a woman's tears, is always a hollow victory. And a point conceded to staunch the flow will always come back to bite one in the ass.

I want no part of that. Nor do I want to be accused of emotional blackmail.

So I just don't do it.

But sometimes, I get caught with my defenses down. If I'm not expecting an assault, it's not terribly difficult to render me completely and utterly prostrate. It can be anything at all, and you just never know what might effect such an erosion of composure.

A Hallmark commercial...hell a Huggies commercial.

An offhand comment from one of my boys, so casually offered as to seem almost inconsequential, but not really. No, not really. I love you Mom. You look pretty today Mom. I'm glad you're my Mom, Mom.

Hearing a baby cry and feeling my body respond, as my breasts tingle and ache, yearning to fill a need that no longer needs to be filled. The sad realization that it never will be again. The relief that almost immediately swallows it up.

A movie, a book, a poem, a beautiful work of art.

A plight, a pledge, a helping hand; humanity at it's finest.

All of these things can bring me swiftly and completely to my knees.

Yesterday, it was a perfectly innocuous little piece of paper.

Upon it were my youngest child's name and a tidy row of letters. Letters that both of us have come to view as marks of judgment. Harbingers of shame. So many years of both, so many new starts, so many false hopes, so many dashed dreams and bitter disappointments.

But not that day.

The teacher, with a small, satisfied smile, pushed it across the table to where I sat.

I didn't look down, couldn't look down. I exasperated her, ruined her moment. Finally she said quietly..."He made honor roll."

And suddenly I was crying. Noiselessly, but copiously, the tears streamed down my face.

"OH." she said, and blinked her enormous china doll eyes at me. "Are you okay?"

She snatched several tissues from a box on her desk and handed them to me wordlessly. Then she simply waited for me to compose myself. She is achingly young, and I'm sure she didn't quite know what to do with me. Skinned knees and forgotten lunchboxes are her forte. Sobbing mothers? Not so much.

"I'm sorry, I never do this." I said, unconvincingly. "It's just...."

Tears again, dammit.

"You have no idea what we've been through with him."

"No, I don't." she said earnestly. "But I know that he is doing VERY well now. And he is just going to do better and better. He is doing better than many of the children in the class who don't have a learning disability. He is SO smart, and capable and he has parents who care."

So let me take a moment to brag about my Spirited, ADHD, borderline Asperger's, recalcitrant, unique, creative, enigmatic, complex child.

Since the last grading period he has raised all of his grades (many of them C's and D's) to A's or B's. He has progressed from a reading level of 3.9, to 6.0. His vocabulary, creative writing and critical thinking skills are far above average. But then, they always have been.

He is still struggling with Math and spelling, but they too have improved vastly. They are typically very difficult for kids with ADD/ADHD to master, because they are very detail oriented. He will always struggle socially as well, but he is slowly being drawn out. He is beginning to believe that he has something of value to contribute to a group.

He is no longer a disruption in the classroom. He is no longer just a "discipline problem". People see my son for who he really is for the first time, probably ever in his life. He's no longer "that kid".

As we were leaving the school, we passed the wall where the names of the honor roll students are displayed. Diminutive One stopped and looked up at it with a wistful expression on his face.

"I was hoping that someday I might get my name on that wall. Just one time."

He sighed deeply and then smiled at me.

"I guess I did it."

I could scarcely speak, but I managed to say "I always knew you would."

And then I was crying again.

It seemed like a good time