I’m often an overly emotional guy. Sad things make me cry, of course, but give me something good happening to a nice person who has long been deserving of it and I become a burst water main of emotions. Since I have a hair trigger to crying, I have had to learn to control it over the years. You know the tickly nostril, subtle pressure on your nose, the tiny tingling in your eyes; the very earliest sensations before a waterworks display. This is usually the only point you have any chance of preventing the tear factory from going on overdrive. I have a lot of experience controlling my tears at these early stages, you see, I have daughters.
If they ever take the time to read this, which they won’t, they would realize that no one has ever made me cry more than they have. It’s not even close. From the moment of their births, the dam of tears had burst open. They didn’t need to do much to make me cry. Parents will know what I mean. First words, first walk, first time digging through and emptying the contents onto the floor of the lower cabinets of the kitchen looking for the fruity cereal that they had eaten that morning. Cute noises, farts, funny looks, almost anything they would do.
That was during the first phase of my crying evolution. Those were mostly tears of joy as my daughters were newborns, toddlers and little girls. There seemed to be little they could do that wouldn’t bring me tears of joy. For many years they would come to the station to greet me arriving on the train coming home from work. Running and screaming, “Papa! Papa! Papa!”, as if I was some movie star or super hero. That memory still pulls my trigger anytime I arrive at the same train station and glance over at the empty path they used to run on. No cute little girls running with wonder in their eyes.
The second phase was very different from the first. There is a lot more confusion and it’s much more difficult. The crying becomes less about joyful childhood glee and more about teenage angst and disappointment. I am no longer the movie star or super hero they once thought but am rather gross and embarrassing instead. My tears are less about wonder and amazement and more about sadness and longing for the little girls I once had the blessing to be part of my life.
I’m not going to sugarcoat anything. Let’s call a teenager, a teenager. Those in between years were a different kind of difficult, occasionally insane asylum material. Throughout it all, I knew inside, even if what was happening hurt me, it was part of growing up, breaking away, finding oneself. It’s still awfully tough though. This was the phase I started getting good at controlling my tear trigger. I was already hyper uncool to them so I didn’t want my overly emotional qualities to add to my already high level of cringiness. There were plenty of things out of my control in life that would invariably lead to tears. This is when I decided to reserve the tears I could control for happier things.
The third phase started this past weekend when we drove my oldest daughter to her first year of college. Driving down I was an emotional mess inside my head but did an awesome job of not showing it. My mind was wading in the pool of memories of watching my little girls grow up, but I didn’t cry. As we got closer to the college town the memories started fading, replaced with a monsoon of emotions including feelings of great sadness, loss, grief, loneliness and abandonment. Again, I proudly stayed stoic, restrained.
I had already prepared myself knowing that unpacking the car and setting up her dorm room would distract me enough. The real challenge, I knew, would come at the end of the day when we parted. When we said goodbye. I thought my preparations for that along with constantly reminding myself of its inevitable arrival had given me the strength to deal with it “like a man”. It didn’t.
When that faithful time arrived and we knew we needed to leave, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. The gushers were activated and the tears started flowing liberally. Her little sister suddenly burst into tears and scolded me for triggering her. Hugs were happening one after another. I would hug my oldest. She would hug her sister. I would hug her again, and so on. Group hugs, walk aways, more hugs. Each hug was accompanied by cracking voices and more tears. It took us a lot longer to say goodbye than I had imagined. We slowly made our way to her dorm door, exchanging hugs and tears as we moved slowly across her room.
When we finally said our final goodbye at her door, I reverted to parent suggestions like getting enough air in her room, locking the door at night, meeting the other girls on the floor, eating, drinking enough water… meant well, but an awkward attempt for me to get out without another gusher.
Leaving her there was very difficult. She had gone away previously on a couple trips but I always knew she was coming back. This time, I didn’t know. The possibilities were limitless and that was a good thing. Her future, like mine had been at one point, is wide open and full of hope. I feel a strong urge to cry imagining her doing amazing things with her life.
The entire five hour trip back home with my youngest was enlightening. We, of course, considered her sister and the challenges she would face and how best to handle them. We also talked about the opportunities and growth she would enjoy. My youngest described what she was learning from her older sister’s experience. She reminded me that both my girls still needed me no matter what phase of life they were in, and that felt good. I didn’t say it but I also needed them.
I’m convinced that there is a fourth phase to my crying evolution and it will be a combination of the previous three. My relationship with my daughter will only grow and become richer. She is an adult now but I will secretly take the same pleasure I did when she was a toddler when she does great things as an adult. She will also disappoint me as she often did as a teenager, when she makes decisions I don’t agree with. Nevertheless I will be there for her, support her and be happy for her. It will be a challenging fourth stage in itself, but ultimately a very rewarding one that I am truly blessed to experience.
Renato Passalacqua 