My
Son, do not cry for pain, cry for love. Tears were not meant for men! Said my
father, struggling to keep tears at bay. He had got an attack known in medical circles
as angina pectoris. A severe pain pierced him right from the heart towards his
left arm. Angina pectoris will make any human cry. I was born in a region where
tears from the eyes of a boy was almost a taboo. As I grew up to understand gender
roles, and man’s chores, I became self-indoctrinated to a false belief that men
should not cry. I never liked the regular tears in my sister’s eyes at every
adversity of childhood. I thought that
my father coveted I be dissimilar. He carried me away to a faraway town. I spent
my childhood with him. In my father’s mind, or so I supposed, a boy-man could
go to the forest alone to fetch fire hood- and that I did. In my father’s mind or
so I supposed, a boy-man could go to the canteen at night fearing no darkness-
and that I did. In my father’s mind or so I supposed, I was meant to become a
man before I became a boy-which I tried.
This
push created in me a wild at heart craving; I thought that a boy should wrestle
other boys if they counter him. Fight them by biceps, and crash them in class.
I falsely epitomized my dad and believed that a man was born to fight rather
than cry. I fell in love with fighters of then days screens “The British Bull Dog,
the Undertaker, Tito Santana” I tired their moves in School and knocked a few boys
down. Severally I ploughed the whole 4K club plot with an axe as punishment
from the discipline master, for fighting in school.
My
birth place was no recipe solution to my dilemma of manhood and tears. In my
culture we eulogized rites of passage; I longed to undergo this rite to prove
that I was man enough and had no tears on my cornea. I got torn between
disowning my culture that abhors tears from a man, and embrace a lifestyle that
would allow a man to cry. I went soul searching to unlock my betwixt. I talked
to friends. Young and old alike. I talked to my priest friend whom I was sure
had seen the Pope at least once. This is when my myopic and parochial condition
got treated. I learned than a man can cry when his team loses through
penalties, I learned that a man can cry when he sees his bride walk down the
aisle to say yes I do. I learned that a man can cry during his wife’s first
baby scan at 24 weeks of pregnancy. I learned that a man can cry when his son
wins a kite competition. And that’s when I learned about tears of love so close
to a man’s eyes.
I
still needed one more approval to seal my conversion to a world that allows men
to cry. That approval would be from my dad.
I have watched my dad age graciously and I thought I had to ask this before I
get too late. In the words of Han
Alexander the blogger, I asked him the other day if I have ever made him cry in
my presence, because I don’t recollect ever seeing his tears. He said, “Yes, you
made me cry once”. He told me that when I was 3 years old, he laid out a pen, a
shilling, and a toy in front of me. He wanted to see which one I would pick. It
represents what I would value most when i grow up. Picking the pen meant
intelligence, picking the shilling meant money, and the toy meant fun. He said that I sat there and stared at the items. He sat
across from me and waited patiently. According to him, I crawled towards them,
he held his breath, and I pushed everything aside and went right into his arms.
He didn’t realize that he was one of the choices. That was the first, and the
only time I made him cry. My dad did not cry due to the pain of angina pectoris
but cried in the presence a three years old - me. Tears of love so close to a man’s eyes
From that story I learned the love of a father
to a son, and I purposed to love my daughters the more. I long to make a toast
during their wedding days and that may make me cry, and those shall be tears of
love. Cry when you can, but above all cry for love.
