This past October, when I gave the eulogy for my father, I described him as stoic. As the fall and winter wore on, I’ve realized that word also applies to me pretty well. Despite the roller-coaster ride of illness, emotion, and stress that shook my world for more than a solid month, I was the one to urge to those around me that everything will work out and we would be okay. Even as I suffered a small emotional break that resulted in two weeks of leave from work, I tried to be the “strong one” that could be relied on.
I know that it is not healthy to hold so much emotional turmoil within, but to be honest, there isn’t a man I know who doesn’t try to be strong when life becomes hard. Grown men don’t cry… at least not when others are watching. Women often assume this is because we don’t want to look weak in front of each other – it really has nothing to do with macho posturing. The truth of the matter is that most men suppress their emotions because we put the emotional needs of others in our lives above our own; most men want to be someone’s hero.
Recently, I’ve seen a bumper sticker which summarizes how many women view male emotional needs; it reads “Men have feelings too, but who really cares?” This sentiment betrays a sexism that is just as vile as male bigotry towards women. It is more socially acceptable to malign men than it is denigrate women. Why? We’re supposed to be able to handle it. Perhaps this is why men, on average, have shorter life-spans than women.
I remember only a few times when my father cried. The ending of “Field of Dreams” always made him cry a little. He cried once when reading me an essay he wrote about his father. When his mother died, I remember him shedding a tear or two. In all honesty, though, I don’t remember seeing him ever openly sobbing; it was always just a tear or two and then he moved on to the next subject. It wasn’t because he didn’t care; no,my father was one of the gentlest souls I’ve ever known. In his mind, however, he needed to be ready to deal with the next crisis that confronted our family. This meant being emotionally strong.
My father died of a heart aneurysm. You could say he died of a broken heart; he spent his life working hard to provide for his family, and I don’t think any of us appreciated him as much as we should have. It wasn’t just stress that caused his death – he didn’t eat properly, sleep enough, or exercise – but the stress of being that “tough guy” that could handled anything certainly didn’t help
Maybe if we cared a little more about his feelings, maybe if he allowed himself to cry a little more and shared a little more of his emotional burdens he would have lived longer than fifty-some years. Maybe I should learn from his example and take better care of myself. If I do, who else will be strong enough to take my place? Such is the male dilemma that all sons inherit from their fathers.
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Your father sounds like a good man, God bless him