The Wall of Unshed Tears

The Wall of Unshed Tears

We bring to you our tears, because we could not do so in the past.

At least some of us do. Many are still not ready or able though, and they still hold them in.

Over the years, the wall of unshed tears in men...builds up...and backs up anger and rage, fear and loss...until they find another way out.

We were brought up to be men... by fathers who fought in World War II, in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq...and so many other places. We were raised to be tough, because our dads and their dads and their grandfather's before them had done so and had always known war since way before I was born.

These men knew horrors first hand, had experienced slaughter and seen so many things they could not unsee.

And I and others like me have been brought up to be their replacements. To protect our families, to kill the enemy, whoever it was in any particular year.

But it is not easy to prepare for and then kill the enemy, even though it is sanctioned by our government...and you are told it is OK...and the right thing to do. But part of every soldier knows...it is not OK.

It isn't talked about a lot as you are growing up.

But it was assumed that a certain percentage of boys would have to go into the military. And for that to happen, all boys had to be molded from birth to be ready to be those men.

We are given fake guns to play with, we grow up bleeding a lot and learning to be tough. We are told not to cry...that to be vulnerable was to be weak and it was just not acceptable for a boy. We are trained in domination...in getting what we want.

Men are not particularly good at "relationships". At their core, relationships are all about negotiating, empathy and caring for each other.

These are not traits we were trained in.

My father was a Marine Medic in WWII. He mostly did not talk about the war years. He did tell me about bandoleers of morphine shots. One if they might survive, two shots if they were two damaged to live. Battlefield triage. He came back from the Pacific Islands with years of these gruesome experiences and dealing with piles of mangled bodies. Like millions of others, he came back with PTSD, in a world that had not created the name nor understood its impacts.

The vast majority of those that went to that war returned home. Many of these returned veterans though were damaged. Not only their bodies, but also there psyche of who they were as a human. They had seen and done brutal things. They watched as friends and foe were ripped apart by the inconceivable tools of war. They had seen body parts shredded by bombs and bullets...and worse.

It is good that we won that war, but the cost was immense.

I was one of many born a few years later. Into a family barely holding together.

I was born in a former military barracks amidst tens of thousands of other Post WWII military families. Each family broken in unique, but overlapping ways.Violence, drunkenness and infidelity were commonplace. Most of these new fathers taught their sons how to be strong, how to never show a weakness, to never allow their emotions to show. Tears were not an option.

Society reacted to the millions of men arriving home. Many women lost their jobs to returning veterans, progress made, but lost in the reshuffle. The American soul pushed back against war. A draft was needed and created to feed bodies to the Vietnam war. Another generation of boys sacrificed to our vision of Americans as caretakers of the world.

I started the Seminary in this time of social unrest and turmoil. Got my first taste of the frustrations of women and people of color for whom the American Dream did not glow so bright and the glitter was missing.

I tried to love women, but I knew little of love. Good family role models existed, but were few and far apart. My family was damaged beyond repair.

I was ambitious and had lofty ideals. I learned to be a leader and became charismatic. I created positive structures in society. Organizations that mattered...that did good things for women and people of color and for the planet.

Along the way, I had four daughters who saved my life. I could love them, and I did. Though I did so from my damaged perspective. I tried to be a great father, but my heightened sense of communication failed me. Society had kept moving forward and I was stuck at a place where I was lost and they were propelling further along, learning how to be better people in an ever changing world.

I grew despite my wounds and knew I wanted to be better. I hung out with strong and powerful women, who regularly kicked my ass, figuratively...but also emotionally, spiritually, intellectually and occasionally physically. This included my daughters, who taught me much about life and love. But I did not have the tools or capacity to do well at the things they needed most.

Today I see the decades have rolled on. Many of my friends have passed on. I have grandchildren. I have grown old and I have been scarred by many battles along the way.

My body and mind begin to falter.

And yet, I still seek to know love...to understand love - to give it and receive it. I tried to love women, but I knew little of love. Now I know more.

But I am also realistic... well...at least somewhat.

I know I live on the cusp of "now". Remembering less each day of my past and realizing I have difficulty making plans for my future.

My tears flow freely now. For me and for many other men who see their lives slipping away and recognize the opportunities lost along our journey through the Universe.

Oh women of the world, we shed our tears now...because we could not do so in the past.

At least some of us do. Many are still not ready or able though and they still hold them in. And more, many more boys have been turned into hard men since I was born. They... WE are lost in a sea of assumptions as to what went wrong...and how did it happen and continue to happen over and over again.

Men don't know their roles anymore. They only know that they are told they are failures. That they are the problem. And yet we tried to do what we were trained to do... by our fathers....by our mothers. But it was not enough.

Now some of us further down the trail weep for what was taken from us without our knowledge or consent.

Our tears fall for all our bad choices. We KNOW we failed and we ask why we were trained to stifle our caring by our parents... by our society... by our communities to be sacrifices to war and made ready to kill other humans as needed.

Perhaps we men will learn to be more caring...be more ready to listen and willing to compromise. There is this possibility. We need to do the work, be better fathers, brothers, friends, and lovers. We must step up and stand up for what is right.

My hope is that women will question and understand how we got this way. I know we were not born this way. No, we were instead taught to be this way. And with your continued love and help, we can teach ourselves to NOT be this way. To be more respectful, honest and caring and more worthy of your love. Yes. I believe that is possible.

Indeed...I tried to love women, and now I think I can.

Richard Fox