CLASSIC Cries

I cried the other night. Nothing unusual in that, other than it was at the end of a predictable rom-com whilst sitting in the lounge only forty-eight hours after I had become teary over a song that I had played on YouTube whilst shaving. At 57, I appear to have become a serial blubber probably crying more so now than I can recall when I was a much younger adult. The earliest significant cry that I can remember occurred when I was running along Longfields, Bicester in my grey shorts, to meet my friend Alan who was waiting for me at our primary school gates. Tripping on something or other I was propelled forward ripping open both kneecaps. If I pull the skin taught today I can still locate the scars.

That hurt, and the tears that followed were examples of emotional tears as opposed to basal tears, which protect the eyes from foreign objects such as dirt or a blasted midge, and reflex tears that form when you peel an onion or when, as the Platters sang, “smoke gets in your eyes”. Culturally I wonder how many times I hid an emotional tear by pretending that it was reflex or basal? Being British, I had been indoctrinated in the ‘stiff upper lip’ posture where crying was almost considered a sin, especially after you had left the confines of the playground. This is somewhat bizarre since research into crying babies (Wolke, D., Bilgin, A., & Samara, M. The Journal of Pediatrics, 2017) places the United Kingdom as top of the weeping chart alongside Canada and Italy whilst newborns from Denmark, Germany and Japan are by far the most stoic. As I have advanced in years, I am relieved