Deep within the inner recesses of my soul, resides a place…a private place…a deep, dark, and sometimes dangerous place of unshed tears. This place contains a pool, a holding pond for the tears I failed to shed.
In kindergarten, my friend Eddie sat directly in front of me. He used to turn around and eat my paste…which made me laugh. Mom said that Eddie ate my paste because he mother couldn’t feed him properly. Looking back, I realize that I should have cried for him…but not knowing better…I laughed at him and didn’t shed a tear.
In Junior High School, my friend Phil’s father died. Not knowing what to say to him, I chose to avoid him. I’m sure Phil shed countless tears about his loss…but I didn’t shed a single one. A really good friend would have shed a few tears of empathy.
As the decade of the 60’s wore on, I failed to understand the magnitude of the events that shook our world. I didn’t cry when John Kennedy was assassinated…or Bobby…or Martin Luther King Jr. Their tragic deaths confused and angered me, but I didn’t shed a single tear.
Yes, somewhere in the inner recesses of my soul, resides a pool of unshed tears.
But now that I’m in my 60’s, my eyes begin to mist quite freely. A hurricane hits land, and I cry. Earthquakes destroy nations, tornados eliminate entire cities, a gunman murders innocent youth in Norway…and I cry.
I’m beginning to understand that my tears come so much easier now, not because I’m older, but because I have such a deep reservoir of unshed tears available. Yes…today I cried for the people of Norway…but my tears were also for Eddie, and Phil, and for John and Bobby and Martin. The more I’ve come to understand the world…the more I tap into that pool of previously unshed tears.
