When A Guy's Gotta Cry
By Kalen Marquis
Dedicated to Sonny and all those who know the pain, uncertainty, and relief of teardrops.
Sonny was a charmer. All of seven years old with sandy brown hair, blue-green eyes, and dimpled cheeks, Sonny was sunny. He was warm and bright like the sun.
Sonny would ride the wheezy yellow school bus to school with his sister and all the other kids on his street. Ed, the bus driver, would sing songs and tell jokes. If they were good, he would even let them listen to their favourite funky music.
Each morning, Ed would swing the big, silver door handles with his gloved hand and say, "Mornin' there, Sonny" with his usual smile. But one September morning wasn't so usual. Sonny was looking out at the tall grass as it whipped by and he started to cry. He cried and he cried and he cried.
Ed watched Sonny in the big mirror and later, just before he stepped down into the stairwell, called him aside. It was then that Sonny took a swipe at his crying eye and in a wondering voice said. "Sometimes I cry and I don't know why." But this was Ed's answer, this was his reply:
Hey, don't worry.
Don't even ask why.
There are just some times
When a guy's gotta cry.
It doesn't matter much
What you may have been told.
To cry takes courage.
It's brave and it's bold.
Sonny was fine after that. It wasn't long until Halloween and that meant trick-or-treating in the neighbourhood and a big costume party at school. Grocery store aisles were stocked with bags of candy in orange and black wrappers and huge, hand-painted FIREWORKS banners filled store windows.
Sonny’s friends were going to dress up as ghosts, witches, trolls, and super hero characters from television. Sonny’s mom was going to sew him a midnight cloak with a glimmering red lining to go with his slicked back hair and white fangs. Strawberry-flavoured blood would drip from the corners of his mouth, turning Sonny the charmer into Sonny the scariest, blood-sucking Dracula!
One day after school, Sonny’s mom asked him to slip his new Dracula pants on for hemming. Standing tall on a kitchen chair, he felt her hands at his stockinged feet, tickling them as she rolled and pinned. And then, all of a sudden, Sonny started to cry. He cried and he cried and he cried.
His mom, reassured that she had not poked him with a pin, could only feel relief. She teased him about scaring her and Sonny half-smiled. He then took a swipe at his crying eye and in a wondering voice said, “Sometimes I cry and I don’t know why.” But this was Mom’s answer, this was her reply:
Hey, don’t worry.
Don’t even ask why.
There are just some times
When a guy’s gotta cry.
It doesn’t really matter
If you’re a parent or kid,
Tears always sneak out
From where feelings are hid.
Sonny knew Mom was right and he was especially happy to think that she had not stuck him with a pin! Sonny was the scariest Dracula ever as he swooped around in his cloak and watched the words “Trick or treat!” float from his fanged mouth in the cool October air.
A couple weeks later, Sonny was out in the woodshed helping Dad stack firewood. With Christmas just a few weeks away, he did not know what to get Sarah. She was, after all, the most wonderful sister—even if she did get a little bossy when her friends were around. “I’d like to get Sarah a doll for her collection but they’re way too much,” he said.
“Yes, they are. . . but what about a doll house to display them?” asked his dad. “We could build it together. We could give it a glass front that slides in and out and a shake roof. We would need to plan it all out.”
Sonny whooped with joy. “Do you really think so?”
“Sure. No worries,” said Dad.
And that’s exactly what they did. Throughout November and December, Sonny and his dad would excuse themselves from the supper table with a big wink and put on their knitted sweaters. Sarah, kept busy with ice hockey practice and mounds of homework, didn’t even miss them as they worked each night in the old woodshed.
Sonny’s dad used an electrical cord to string a light bulb from the rafters. It didn’t do much to heat their cold fingers but it gave them just enough light. Under it, Sonny and his dad measured, sawed, glued, and nailed as their stretched shadows played “Simon Says” on the wall.
They chipped shingles for the roof, glued patterned paper on the walls, and laid the tiniest tiles. It looked just like a grand old mansion but much smaller. Sonny thought it was too nice for a bunch of old dolls but Sarah, he knew, would love it. And it was then that Sonny started to cry. He cried and he cried and he cried.
His dad, with woodchips in the knit of his sweater, gave Sonny a big hug. Pushing back just a little, Sonny took a swipe at his crying eye and in a wondering voice said, “Sometimes I cry and I don’t know why.” But this was Dad’s answer, this was his reply:
Hey, don’t worry.
Don’t even ask why.
There are just some times
When a guy’s gotta cry.
It doesn’t matter much
If you’re a girl or a boy.
There’s nothing so magic
As those wet tears of joy.
Christmas came and went quickly as it always did. Sarah loved her doll house—almost as much as Sonny loved making it for her. Together, they helped their mom strip the Christmas tree and drag it onto the back porch until it could be planted when the snow melted and the ground thawed.
In the meantime, the skies cried and threw tantrums with fiery lightning bolts, and everyone stayed indoors. Students in Sonny’s class did tumbles, rolls, and flips into big, blue mats and pretended to be circus acrobats as they walked heel-toe-heel-toe across painted highwires on the gym floor.
One stormy day in February, Sonny’s teacher blew the whistle to get everyone to stop and give their attention, he noticed a funny, muffled sound. There, just a few steps away, was Sonny, struggling to hold back his tears as a couple of the kids started to laugh. Sonny took one look at his teacher and he cried and he cried and he cried.
Sitting side by side on a bench, Sonny wanted to tell his teacher about the funny feeling like when you wave goodbye to your mom at the bus stop or that first sleep over at a friend’s house, but the words would not come. Instead, Sonny took a swipe at his crying eye and in a wondering voice said, “Sometimes I cry and I don’t know why.” But this was his teacher’s answer, this was his reply:
Hey, don’t worry.
Don’t even ask why.
There are just some times
When a guy’s gotta cry.
It doesn’t matter much
What the scoffers say.
One day all of their tears
Will wash us away.
Sonny smiled. He was not a “cry baby” and he had many friends at school. Besides, almost as quickly as Sonny’s tears had dried up, so did the sky. It took a few starts and stops, but finally the sky cleared, flowers bloomed, and the fields were trampled by soccer and baseball players in sharp, mud-piercing cleats.
One sunny weekend in June before school got out, Sonny and Grandpa made their usual strawberry picking trip. Grandpa, peeking out from under a wide straw hat, rounded up some buckets and they were off. Sonny, in his favourite baseball cap with his nose and ears lathered thick with sunscreen, was happy. He would take one side of the row and Grandpa the other.
They both sat on stubby, overturned buckets, lifting fuzzy leaves to find clusters of juicy, red berries with tiny yellow seeds in honeycomb rows. Every once in a while, they would stretch and take long drinks of water. But before the extra drops had even rolled down his neck, Grandpa would mutter, “No time for lolly-gaggin’,” and they would be back at it again.
Back home in the afternoon, they would clean and sort the berries. Spindly green hats were plucked off with a twist and bloated red strawberries were popped into clear plastic bags for freezing, or washed and mulched for Grandma’s jam. Only the odd one went strawberry-skidding across the floor as Grandpa or Sonny tried to sneak one while the other’s back was turned. They played this game every year but this time, just as Grandpa pretended to catch him, Sonny started to cry. He cried and he cried and he cried.
Grandpa put a gentle hand on his shoulder. It was then that Sonny took a swipe at his crying eye and in a wondering voice said, “Sometimes I cry and I don’t know why.” But this was Grandpa’s answer, this was his reply:
Hey, don’t worry.
Don’t even ask why.
There are just some times
When a guy’s gotta cry.
It doesn’t matter much
If you really need to bawl.
Just rev your tear engine
--VROOM! VROOM!--
And don’t let it stall!
Sonny laughed. He laughed and he laughed. He had always laughed at Grandpa’s funny sayings and now, without a mirror to see his own, at Grandpa’s extra-wide strawberry grin.
It wasn’t long before school was out and summer had arrived. Sonny loved summer. Not only was it good for soccer, baseball, and running under the sprinkler, but it also meant Sonny got to see a whole lot more of Grandma and Grandpa. Sonny’s parents worked during the day so Sonny and Sarah stayed at their house across town.
Sonny’s Grandma was full of life. Her eyes sparkled as she watched Sonny and Sarah swooping in and out on their rollerblades, soaring up and down with their arms out like swallows. Sonny knew Grandma and suspected that it would not be long before she would be swooping and soaring too.
Sure enough, when Dad dropped them off on that first morning, there was Grandma in the driveway, wobbling more than just a little on a pair of sleek, new rollerblades. With sleep still in his eyes, Sonny ran into her arms and started to cry. He cried and he cried and he cried.
Holding onto Sonny for support, Grandma plunked down on the steps while Sarah ran out back to find Grandpa. Grandma wiped his tears and asked her “Sonny-Boy” what was wrong. It was then that Sonny took a swipe at his crying eye and in a wondering voice said, “Sometimes I cry and I don’t know why.” But this was Grandma’s answer, this was her reply:
Hey, don’t worry.
Don’t even ask why.
There are just some times
When a guy’s gotta cry.
It doesn’t matter much
If you’re young or old.
Tears make us rich.
Far richer than gold.
It didn’t take long before Grandma was helping Sonny put on his rollerblades and the two of them were off down the driveway. Sonny was calling for her to slow down and she was picking up speed, not quite sure how to stop.
One morning late in the summer, when the sky was dark and everything around him was still, Sonny awoke. He could hear the birds singing in the trees outside his window and the slushy sound of car tires against the wet pavement as some lone traveller was guided home by the silver glow of the moon.
Sonny lay there in silence, with only the company of his favourite friend, the family cat named Ben. Laying there stroking Ben’s fur and hearing his soft, rolling purr, Sonny began to cry. He cried and he cried and he cried.
Ben snuggled closer. Ben, he knew, understood. Then Sonny whispered, “It’s okay, Ben. You know me. Sometimes I cry and I don’t know why.” It was then that Sonny heard, for the first time his own voice among all the others. There was his bus driver, Ed, his mom, his dad, his teacher, Grandpa, Grandma . . . and now him. Drifting off to sleep with a warm Sonny-Boy smile, he could hear them all saying, together:
Hey, don’t worry.
Don’t even ask why.
There are just some times
When a guy’s gotta cry.
You’re not the only one
It happens to me.
Crying is human
It sets our heart free.
© 1991 KalenMarquis
