Cowboys don't Cry

I’m sitting at my PC and today my eyes are wet. With tears. Which is a problem in it’s own right, because I might have told you that I grew up in a pretty conservative Afrikaans family. Where the man is the head of the house and men don't cry. Never. Or at least not where anyone may see him.

I only saw my dad with tears in his eyes on two occasions. The first time when I was still a little boy of about 6 years old. And the telephone rang one evening and we got the news that my granddad just passed away. He was in hospital, I think with some heart-related problem. And ironically, he was reaching for his pipe and lighter on the bedside cupboard when the blood clot caused his death.

The second time was many years later, again with the death of a family member. This time my dads twin brother. I happened to be in the Eastern Cape at the time, and when I got the news that it was not going well with my uncle, I left for their house immediately. But got there just minutes too late. My dad was there. The one person that he knew even from before they were born, just passed away. And my dad cried.

So maybe I’m a little different. But generally only when in my own company. A sad (or happy) moment in a movie will cause me to wipe my eyes a little. And I feel guilty. Because of that I’m less of a man? I don’t think so.

The one evening that I will remember for the rest of my life is the night when I got home from work and the house was empty. My wife (at the time) and my daughter were gone. Back to where she grew up. And I was alone. All the years of arguing and unhappiness forgotten for the briefest of moments. And my little baby girl, not even 2 years old at the time, no longer part of my life. I got into the car and I just drove. Fortunately I wasn’t pulled over along the way, I’m sure that I would have been locked up. I was sobbing and crying and flushed with emotion.

And the other time was when I got a call very early on a Saturday-morning, September 2005. My dad's younger brother with the news that my dad just died. And later, when I stood in front of his open coffin, I just cried and cried and cried. I wonder if he realised how my heart hurt. I'm sure he didn't mind.

So why am I so sad today?

A friend told me to read the story of ‘Poplap’ here. It's also a blog. It’s in Afrikaans, if you can understand the language, go and spend some time there. It’s worth it. And on that same page is a link to the story of Eliot. If you have sound, it’s worth every minute of the just over 6 that the video runs. And I feel for that family. And for that little baby. And I'm thinking of my daughter, now a teenager and my dad who'm I'll never see again. And my friends and the people who love me.

When you've read the above and listened to the Eliot video, please tell me: Are Cowboys still not allowed to cry?

I think they are.

Until next time.