Don’t Cry! Be a Man!

“Don’t cry! You’re not going to cry, Jamie! Come on! Hold it in! Be tough! Be a man!”

We’re in Manchester, New Hampshire, where I grew up. The year is, I don’t know, probably 1988, give or take a year or two. I’m about ten years old.

It’s still so vivid in my mind.

Boyhood Lost

I’m curled up on my side, clutching the front-yard grass between my fingers, the wind knocked out of me. I collided with someone mid-game and hit the ground…hard. I’m desperate for air, gasping, but my lungs won’t cooperate. I feel an acute sense of panic, as if I’m stuck submerged under water. I can’t seem to reach the surface.

My eyes are glossy. Burning. I can feel the tears welling up, nearly ready to run down my cheeks.

And then I look up and see my friend standing over me. He looks like a referee assessing a boxer who’s down for the count, on the mat, dazed. His expression is intimidating. Stern. He sees what’s about to happen, and he’s having none of it.

Unilaterally, he has decided that the days of boyhood tears are over, and he has deputized himself to oversee compliance.

I am his project. He’s made it his business to toughen me up, to make me realize my inner capacity for emotional self-control.

The Drill Sergeant’s orders are crystal clear: Betray your body’s instinctive reaction to pain. Push it down. Push it all deep, deep, down. Redirect the totality of your life-force towards the holy task of holding it in.

Because that’s what men do.

Men don’t cry.

I’m dumbstruck by the intensity on his face. I don’t get why this is so important to him, but he’s a year older and much larger. His solid stature and squared-off shoulders dwarf my diminutive two-year-bone-delayed frame. A camp counselor calls me “skin-and-bones” because my rib cage looks like a xylophone.

Manhood: It’s More Than Meets the Eye

But it’s not just my slight build that makes me a target of his…encouragement. It goes deeper than that, at least I think it does.

It’s because to me, pool water is always freezing, and lake water is always creepy. If I can’t see my feet, who knows what’s down there!

It’s because going into the woods behind our houses when it’s dark out is terrifying, not adventurous or exhilarating.

It’s because the basement is scary, even in the daytime.

It’s because I’d rather sled down the smooth path and watch the other kids fly dangerously far off the jumps. I’m not crazy.

It’s because my friend is decidedly the alpha, the adjudicator of Manhood, and I am decidedly the beta, at best. Delta or, better yet, omega, is more like it. I’m still a boy who’s yet to flirt seriously with the sociological expectations of masculinity. Until now, I wasn’t even aware that it mattered.

He plays Pop Warner football and shows off the large bruises he sustained on the gridiron. With pride, he speaks about his older sister’s boyfriend, who plays football at a Big Ten school. I am supposed to recognize these facts as those of status, but they don’t matter much to me.

My Papa was a football star as well. A sensation at Bates College (Class of 1931), he played varsity ball despite weighing just over 100 pounds. He was athletic, fearless, and most importantly, very fast. My dad played some football as well.

Still, there was very little bravado in my family. Determination, yes, but machismo was not to be found, at least not in my experience. It’s all so foreign to me.

Looking Back With Adult Eyes

I didn’t cry. That I remember. At least not outwardly.

Look, there was definitely something traumatic about the experience, but I can’t deny that it was also revelatory. He pushed me to exercise an inner force of emotional will that I didn’t know I possessed. In many ways, it established a developmental demarcation line. There was Jamie 1.0, Jamie before the collision, and Jamie 2.0, the Jamie who emerged after the collision.

From that day on, the way I showed up emotionally to the world changed. There was no longer a 1:1 ratio between what I felt and what I revealed. I’d be lying if I claimed this to be a net-negative life experience. There were some critical lessons learned.

Finally, and most importantly, I never held a grudge towards my friend. He and his family were, and are, wonderful people and positive fixtures of my otherwise happy childhood years.

Yes, my skin was thickened that day, but not my heart.