CALL ME SENTIMENTAL

Nobody likes a sentimental old fool.  Nor a young one, either, really. Sentimentality is typically scorned, ridiculed, and to be avoided at all cost.  It's just not cool.  Irony is cool.  I love irony.  Even so....

Imagine my lifelong struggle to hide the significantly wide vein of sentimentality that flows through my heart and spills in a waterfall of tears when my attempts to sandbag it into submission fail.  People squirm.  Or treat me like a pitiful child.  Or laugh.

I can armchair analyze that they are merely uncomfortable acknowledging their own tender hearts and this causes in them the knee-jerk need to ridicule in another what they don't like in themselves.  (That's called acting out of Shadow -- thank you, Carl Jung.)  I frankly think they should do their personal work around this and grow some self-acceptance and compassion, but that's not my call to make.  I just have to deal with how to express my own authentic heart and respond to the reactions I get without judgement or shame.  A tall order.

My first memory of this particular ridicule was in 7th grade.  I adored Mr. Carter, my Language Arts and Social Studies teacher.  He was kind, but firm; encouraging and funny; sensitive and tough.  He  drew me out of a shell of shyness such that I felt more confident just walking into his classroom every day. I worked hard in his class, learned a lot, and developed a life-long love of the subjects he taught -- literature, writing, history, and geography.   I sat in the front row and hung on his every word.  At the end of the year, he stood up at the beginning of one class to announce he wouldn't be back the following school year.  He was leaving our Junior High.  I was shocked.  Tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks falling onto my desk.  Before long, as he continued to talk, I was sobbing.  Then I heard the snickers, the whispers behind me, the chuckles.   Mr. Carter looked over my head and in no uncertain terms reprimanded those who were giggling and making crying noises and motions (fists rubbing eyes) and told them that being sentimental was nothing to be ashamed of; that it befitted a person who has a big heart.  I will always remember his defense of my reaction, but over the years my sentimentality has not been easier to bear.

I cry easily and mostly when I am touched to the core of my heart by a kindness, by gratitude, by appreciation, love, success, accomplishment, a Hallmark card.  Really, I am so easily manipulated by sentimentality that even when I know it's happening I am in full weep mode before I can tell myself they are just trying to get me to buy a new car.  I can be ambushed by movies, YouTube videos, literary passages, personally written kind words on a greeting card, inspirational speeches, Obama winning the Presidency (twice), treasured memories, weddings and funerals (life passages of any kind, really), hymns and carols, old toys, and photo albums....they all get me going.  It's a constant challenge.

I think my family has mostly come to terms with my teariness.  But I still try to hold it way back since I don't know for sure what the response will be in any given situation.

When Son-Two graduated from high school (10 years ago already!), some extended family came to town to share in the festivities.  They also came to see my mother, who had recently moved to an Assisted Living facility with increasing struggles with dementia.  As we all gathered 'round the dining room table, and joined hands to take turns saying what we are thankful for, as is our tradition,  I was overcome with gratitude for our being together -- such a rare occasion.  I found myself weeping as I tried to express my thanks for their making the trip to join in our family celebration and to support Mom in a difficult time.  One family member, uncomfortable with my tears, said -- "Oh, now we all have to cry-baby our way around the table!"  I was stunned, even as I understood the outburst from this person.  But I immediately squelched the tears and the feelings, building a little fort around my heart in that moment to stay safe from further ridicule.  I became the little 7th grader again, which is how I feel every time my heart swells and tears come in public.

Once a week my family gathers for Family Dinner doing the hand-holding thing.   To a person one common thread is gratitude for family gathered together.  I hear them all say it and feel thankful that this is a value shared.  But when I sit and look around at my little family: a husband I've know since he was 17, two grown sons, a daughter-in-law, two granddaughters, I am so filled with love, with gratitude, with so much I want to say to each one about what they mean to me -- all the memories I have of the silly, sublime, and even challenging times we've borne together, that I can barely speak or the floodgates would open wide.  So I just smile and say "I'm so incredibly thankful for all of you and for us being here together."  My voice cracks a little bit, but I contain the depth of feeling that courses through me, not wanting to scare the children or mess up my make up or cause others to look down in embarrassment for me.

I guess that's why occasionally I have to write about it when I'm home alone and can let the tears fall with every word.  My heart holds more love for my family, for my friends, for my many blessings, for my very life, than I can ever express.  But I know.  And I think Mr. Carter knew too.

At least, that's the (blurry) view from here....©