Pat Brothwell has nothing against a good cry, so why can’t he work one up in public?
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I’m rarely moved to tears by films. I’m not stating this as a way to prove my masculinity or to mock those who get emotional easily. It’s just a fact. I watched Saving Private Ryan with a stone face. I thought The Notebook was predictable cheese and I can watch Schindler’s List with a dry eye. Even though I physically screamed and spent the rest of the night threatening HBO via twitter during last year’s infamous “red wedding” on Game of Thrones, I didn’t cry, even if though I’m still unsure whether or not I want to watch the fourth season, now that everyone I’ve ever wanted to win has been brutally murdered.
To this date there’s been three movies and one television show that got me more than a little choked up. I was devastated when Mufusa died in the Lion King, like straight up weeping on the car ride home. The scene in Armageddon (an underrated, cinematic masterpiece) where Bruce Willis says good-bye to Liv Tyler right before he saves the world from asteroid destruction, in my opinion is one of the most poignant scenes in film; thinking about Liv putting her hand up to the monitor through which they are communicating and saying “daddy, no,” is actually making my throat feel kind of constricted right now. Whoever said that Marley & Me was a light hearted comedy about a rascally dog is a sadistic bastard; I literally sobbed through the last hour of that film and have vowed to never watch it again. I recently watched Friday Night Lights in its entirety and found myself getting chocked up, but in a happy way, on more than several occasions, most notably when Smash Williams finally got accepted into college and hell, about ten times at the hands of Matt Saracen.
All of these have been in the comfort and privacy of my own home. I don’t like to cry in public.
I was talking about movies with one of my classes a couple of weeks ago and mentioned how I really wanted to see Lone Survivor because I’d just finished the book. The problem, I continued, is that I know it’ll be both uplifting and devastating and I know my emotional limits. I just don’t feel like going to the movies and crying relatively hard in public. Most of the students got a good laugh at this, but one, who I’m sure was trying her best to lend support in some sort of way, quipped, “you know, it takes a real man to cry in public.”
That bugs me.
And again, no vitriol directed her way, but I hate the whole “it takes a real man” to do X, Y or Z. You hear it crop up every now and then. “It takes a real man to wear pink,” might be a compliment, an assertion of your confidence and level of comfort, but essentially it’s an empty one. I wear pink mostly because I look good in it. There doesn’t seem to be anything specifically “real” about that. It’s mostly a vanity issue; if I didn’t think I looked good in pink, I wouldn’t wear it. “Real men dance.” I have no problems dancing. I mean, I’m a middle class white guy, so I’m awful, but put on some good tunes and I’ll cut a rug. Add some drinks to the equation and I’ll straight up put on a show. However, not every song makes me want to get down and asserting that “real men” dance will never, I repeat, never get me to do either the “Electric Slide” or “Chicken Dance.” This has naught to do with wanting or not wanting to appear masculine and feminine. It has everything to do with these tunes (if that’s what you want to call them) being musical abominations that epitomize everything I hate about lame parties.
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I have no problem crying during a film or television show. I just don’t like doing so in public.
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I have no problem crying during a film or television show. I just admitted that to the entire internet. I just don’t like doing so in public. This has nothing to do with appearing masculine or emasculating myself. It has everything to do with personal philosophies. Disagree with me all you want, but I find over emoting in public to be tacky. I’m of the train of thought that unless something truly awful is happening, you cry at home, or to your family or friends. I think it makes people around you uncomfortable and should be avoided for the most part. This is not gender inclusive and I realize there are exceptions. Happy tears during a toast or graduation ceremony? Bring it on. Funeral? Without question. At a party where you know everyone? If they all share the same sentiment, then sure, but for me, it’s not in a movie theatre or shopping center or restaurant. And I’m not judging you for crying in public. I don’t have a problem with that (mostly). It’s just not something I’m going to let myself do.
I do have a problem with the whole “a real man” phrase used in this sort of capacity. Some real men cry in public. Some don’t. Some women have no problem weeping openly, and some share the same sentiment I do; it’s a case by case basis. Real men don’t wear pink. Men who like the color do. It takes a real man to dance. It also takes a real man to stick to his likes and convictions and stay seated if he chooses. Real men eat vegan. They don’t need a steak to assert their dominance. I don’t need a steak to assert my dominance. I just happen to look medium rare beef on the grill and hate most vegetables with the same passion I hate whatever critic described Marley & Me as, “rollicking fun for the whole family.” It has nothing to do with being a real man and it’s annoying to assume that just because someone isn’t interested in something, that they’re automatically consumed by image consciousness.
Then again, half the reason I don’t cry in public has to do with the fact that I’m a full body crier. There’s a lot of shaking and a lot of snot and it’s not very attractive, but you know what? It does take a real man to admit he cares about how he looks.
—modified photo David Sim /Flickr Creative Commons
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