Something to Cry About

I am told when I was a baby I would cry in my baby bed, and then stop when Mom picked me up. My father was not going to put up with that, so when he came in from working in the field one day, he smacked me with his straw hat every time I cried. I would stop from the surprise, and I was cured of crying for attention. Later in life, I remember a July 4th celebration (my friend Kathy was there) and a fire cracker went off in my hand. I blubbered self-righteously until Daddy threatened to “give me something to cry about” if I didn’t stop. Now, I do not feel I was abused one bit, because I never remember getting a spanking in my life. Daddy would just look at me, and I would stop whatever I was doing! One would think, therefore, that I would have learned not to cry, but I cry very easily. I cry at sad movies and AT&T commercials where they phone home to their mothers. I cry when someone else is crying, just in sympathy. My dad is 91 years old. I cried when I left him in the assisted care unit of the nursing home, even though he asked to go, and he likes the regular meals, care, and socialization.
Daddy called me today. He said he didn’t want to bother me, but I told him to call me anytime, and that I was glad that he called. He said, “Thanks a whole big bunch. Bye.” I heard his voice choke with tears.

I guess I gave him “something to cry about.”