Ode to the Tearjerker

I don't like to cry.  I don't know if I've told you this yet or not, but it's true.  I used to be an overly sensitive child (we're talking ooooooverly sensitive), and after years of being told to "buck up and take it" (which I do appreciate), I kind of went overboard and began to see crying of any kind as a sign of weakness.  So I don't cry.

That is, unless I'm by myself (or having a breakdown in public, but that's a story that probably will never be told).

Ask me most any time and I will tell you that I don't like movies and literature that make me cry.  I will tell you just what I said moments ago, that I hate to cry, and books etc. that even make me tear up cause me to feel like a jellybrained slackhearted loser with minimal intestinal fortitude (that was fun to say).  Yet, there's a very short period of time in which I will reveal to you that the tearjerker is probably my most beloved medium of entertainment.  That time happens to be when I'm in the middle of bawl-session or shortly after said tears have been jerked.  And then the moment is gone.

It's not the crying that I like (obvi...).  Tearjerkers do a couple of things for a body.  One, they make you identify with others' sufferings and give you a way to get out that good cry that's been waiting in the wings for fodder to get it going (wow, did you see all that alliteration?!).  Two, they make you feel better because other people are going through junk just like you are, maybe even worse.  Yay you!  Three, they show the strength and beauty of human nature despite the sin condition.  Those are the best, the stories that point out human triumph and majesty.  They don't even have to end happily -- in fact, I tend to prefer that they don't.  I like seeing how grand our species remains in the midst of misfortune.  I'm going to stop there before I say the exact same thing a FOURTH time.

So no, I don't like to cry.  But I'm okay with it when it feels like my heart is swelling past its sinewy confines, responding to all that is good yet bad yet ultimately good (aaand that makes four, I guess), rejoicing in the glorious minutiae of the everyday trials and tragedies (five).  I like to experience what it's like to fall in and out of love, to deal with death and acceptance...

Clearly I can't get past elaborating on every juxtaposition of good and bad, victory and failure (geez, seven?), so I'm going to quit while I'm par.  I hope I'm par.  Please don't hate on my writing style just because I'm tired and wistful and...not making sense anymore.  Until next time, my friends, au revoir.