A week ago, Katie and I had a bit of time together as I had collected her from Clayton for her photo appointment at Enloe High School…a task that necessarily did not include her constant companion named Mistletoe!
As we’re on the way back toward Clayton, the conversation turned toward the looming second impeachment trial of former President Trump who stands accused of “inciting an insurrection” and how different Washington DC was now compared to when I went to walkabout round the Chesapeake the previous August and visited the National Mall and Arlington Cemetery for a few hours.
I was explaining to her just how important that trip was for me (details here) and how fulfilling the promise to visit my father’s resting place when I could was a huge weight that was lifted off my shoulders.
That’s when she decided to really get me with the question that had never been asked before:
"Did I cry when I was at Arlington?"
It’s probably just as well she saved that one for when we were waiting in the queue at Starbuck’s to get Julia something because I can’t guarantee I wouldn’t have ploughed the Traverse into the ditch had we been moving.
It was so out-of-left field and so *HER*!
She’s generally an easy-going sort of person in spite of not having an easy go of things and whilst her laugh and silliness are also genuine aspects of her delightful personality, it’s her ability to suddenly pivot and cut through any pretensions of BS with the truly important question that will take your breath away.
The quiet way in which she asked that question was also far more of an impact than had she shouted it at the top of her lungs. If she truly does follow through with her current notion of pursuing a career of becoming learned in the law, I really feel for whoever finds themselves in the unfortunate position of being the target of her interrogation.
The other thing you can’t help but notice is that when she’s asked after the elephant in the room, she will refuse to be fobbed off on any idea of evading that question. She’d have a wonderful career as Leader of Her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition at Prime Minister’s Questions…the broadcasts would certainly be entertaining watching her eviscerate her opponent du jour. Even if she would think that the whole proceeding was “for nerds”.
But to answer her question…yes I did cry that day and truth be told it was not an insignificant amount. And I’m not at all ashamed to admit it as I might have been years ago.
Growing up in a military family is not an environment that encourages crying or showing feelings that can be used against you. Crying if you were male was considered quite the sign of weakness and almost certainly ill fortune would follow soon after so you learned quick to suppress those feelings until you were alone and could weep in peace.
Years later, there would be plenty of times I would feel sad or some form of despair but the only way others would ever notice anything would be that I would tend to get much quieter and introspective. Most of the time, you’d find me eventually at Grandpa’s piano just playing whatever would come to mind.
One such time was when I got the call from Florida that Grandma Williams was not long for this world. It was early afternoon and I had literally just come in the kitchen door from the garage after driving home from RDU as I had returned from a two-week TDY at the Blue Zoo (IBM) in Rochester MN and reached up to the phone on the wall that rang at precisely that time. Dad said that as soon as she passed, he’d be on the way to come get me from Clayton and then we’d be off to southern Illinois for the funeral together.
Grandma had been in such miserable pain those few months leading up to her passing that I was honestly relieved she would soon be free of her afflictions. But instead of tears, I sat down and just started playing. To this day, I have no clue *WHAT* I played and it’s probably just as well I never recorded it because what I remember was that it alternated between anger and melancholy and all points in between and it lasted for several hours without a break. At 2355 hours, I felt a calming sense of relief and was done playing…it would turn out that it was precisely at the time she left us that the last note was struck.
That trip and funeral is a story for another time but there weren’t any tears during the journey. To be sure, I was sad but I was darned if I was going to be the one to break down in front of Dad. Old habits…they’re damned hard to break.
That brings me to the night I got the call from the Port Orange PD the day Dad passed away. I remember very distinctly being in a bit of shock and not really paying attention to many of the details of what the officer said and the kids watching me probably would have thought I’d seen a ghost.
I had thought I was ready for that call…goodness knows I’d been living with the spectre of it for over 30 years and a succession of VA doctors that had predicted he’d take a “dirt nap” in six months that he would ultimately end up burying as he outlasted, outwitted, and outplayed them. I had my marching orders, his arrangements were already made and ready to execute at a moment’s notice and there was no need for tears but rather getting on with the job at hand as he would have wished.
What the kids didn’t know that night was that there were tears about a half hour after the call. But they were on the porch, they were brief, and then I didn’t cry again until his service at Arlington. That was even with seeing the state of the house when I went to Florida to start clearing out his personal effects and get the estate sorted or the phone call on my birthday that didn’t happen or any number of reminders of his passing.
At the time, I honestly thought it was better that way…try to present a brave face to the world and just get on with the job I had accepted so many years ago…had trained for in all those years…had thought I was truly ready to do for all those years. The kids and everyone else already had enough on their plate as it was without adding my sadness and sorrow to it so come what may, there was no way I was going to allow myself the luxury of any more tears than I had in private that night.
Having had five years to think on it, I told Katie I truly believe that was probably the dumbest decision I ever took during the whole ordeal if for no reason than I have no doubt I was fooling absolutely no one round me.
At the end of the day, it wasn’t a show of strength to try to play the stoic fool too proud or scared to show tears or actual human feelings…it was an idiot’s way to try to avoid being hurt even more and in so doing making things far worse than they needed to be. I’m sure more than a few people would have been reassured I wasn’t going completely mad if I had bothered to show that I have my moments where I can be an ordinary human like everyone else.
I won’t say that tears come a lot easier these days but I will say my resistance to them is all but gone.
I’m sure all of my father’s new neighbours on their small hill in Section 76 and within sight of the Pentagon’s roof would agree because they were the witnesses to the fact that yes, I did actually cry during that visit with Dad.
And I’m not in the least ashamed to admit it…especially to someone I consider one of the most caring and sensitive I’ll ever know.