Sunday Scrib

What Makes Mom Cry?

Yes, I am a momma's-boy. Yes, I know it's Mother's Day.

Few events in my life have escaped their impact without tears. That is to say, the really big stuff- are teary. Yes, I cry. I learned this from my mom.

I can first remember moms' tears as she was listening (while ironning) to her brand new concert albums - collections of symphonic masterpieces. It must have been Mozart. The tears were not joy or sadness. The tears were just a welling up of emotive energy. I cry when I hear a song at just the right time, too.

Later, I recall a certain event on the black and white TV (13 inch screen). Everyone was dressed in black and a little boy was holding an folded up American flag. "Mom, why does that little boy get a flag?" No answer, just tears (from behind the ironning board).

Also, Robert and Martin. Funerals and tears. I learned to cry.

Now, I'm married to a crier. She cries when she is happy and when sad. She watches movies and cries. She wants to watch movies just so she can cry. She avoids other movies because "I know it will make me cry." Mystery.

What I do know, I need her tears. My stupid emotional disconnectness - needs to see her tears. As she cries, I see the path of her heart and hear the voice of the almighty.

There is peace when she cries. It is like a holy momment, sacred and beautiful. I wish she would let me closer to her tears. She likes to hide in the darkness of the theater or behind tissues when she cries.

Maybe a book about her tears is too personal. A more clinical approach (with excerpts from some chick named Judith), now that may work. What about a DIY approach - yes, Do It Yourself -the home crying manual for idiots - a book for men to get in touch with the tears of the women they love. Or , maybe a book that seeks the history of tears in literature.

It will never happen - or maybe it's already written... Either way, I'll never write it. I'll just keep it all to myself. Mums the word.