One childhood memory stands above all others. I remember crying over something absolutely ridiculous as a kid, you know, because that’s what kids do.
My dad looked at me and said, “Sarah what’s your last name?”
I managed to stop the sobbing long enough to whisper, “Nielson.”
“That’s right. You’re a Nielson. We are strong and don’t cry.”
I’m sure he was trying to get me to shut the hell up because we were in public. What he didn’t know, at the time, was that moment and phrase would forever be ingrained into my memory.
Refusing to cry is not a healthy behavior, I know. I cry on occasion, but usually at home over a tub of ice cream, never in public, and especially never in a movie. Obviously I’m broken, so there’s no need to point that out. I get it. I also get that I need to fix this behavior. Probably with therapy and vodka. Until that happens I found a solution.
Last night I saw “The Blind Side” with my friend Susan. The movie melted my heart repeatedly. Enter solution: Every time I felt like crying I looked at Susan and demanded her to cry. She did, because that’s what good friends do.
The only problem with this temporary fix is the convenience factor. I’m going to have to arrange all emotion around Susan’s schedule. This will be incredibly difficult around the holidays, so no one is allowed to get hurt, die or invite me to a wedding until January. Capish?