John Hearn has noticed men weeping openly. He advises us not to dismiss the stoic men of the past.
Last summer I watched with interest as Andy Murray wept openly, publicly, on camera, after he lost his Wimbledon championship match to Roger Federer. Having lived through an era when men did not cry – or did so rarely and privately and shamefully – I witnessed Murray’s crying jag through the biases of another time. I found the scene jarring, though not surprising.
In recent months I have viewed movie dramas and reality shows and sports contests and news segments in which men have cried when they’ve lost a girlfriend, a dog, a job, their confidence, a game. I’ve seen them weep –and heard them too, which makes the moment even more uncomfortable for me – when they’ve proposed to a woman, found their lost dog, spotted a rainbow, lost weight. The phenomenon has become so commonplace that Google generates 163 million results when searched for “men crying.” Men, it seems, have been crying up a storm, a practice many have longed for since at least the onset of our so-called “countercultural” movement decades ago.
In the 1960s, when our centuries-long trend toward self-fulfillment experienced a spurt, and when women’s demands for power included a critique of patriarchy, we as a society basically agreed that men were too stoic, divorced from their true feelings, non-emotional, and that this toughness made them less human than was desirable, and somewhat deficient as partners and parents. Today, we may finally have what we so long wanted: dads and husbands and boyfriends and sports heroes who cry. Appreciation for this new man was evident during Wimbledon’s post-game interview as the fans’ generous applause intensified whenever Murray broke down.
What a sea change!
While men have always cried openly, many, during our own history have resisted doing so. On July 4th, 1939, two weeks after doctors announced that he had amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, Lou Gehrig stood, in uniform, before more than 60,000 fans at Yankee Stadium. Gehrig hadn’t lost a game or a tournament; he had lost everything. When Sid Mercer, the master of ceremonies, noticed that the shy Gehrig was getting choked up as he listened to teammates’ expressions of gratitude and respect, he decided not to ask the guest of honor to speak and thereby risk publicly crying. So the celebration was over…until Gehrig spun around unexpectedly and walked up to the microphone. He thanked his parents for the sacrifices they made for him. He thanked his wife for the courage she had given him. He thanked the fans for their support. He was, he said, the luckiest man on earth. At one point he brought his hand to his face, his palm covering the bridge of his nose, his thumb beneath one eye, his fingers beneath the other. He was stopping tears before they got on their tracks. Later, he wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. A report implied that after the ceremony, when getting water in the privacy of the dugout, he momentarily wept.
Similarly, when announcing the death of President Kennedy on live television in 1963, Walter Cronkite fought off the urge to cry; his voice paused and filled with emotion, he swallowed noticeably, and, when he glanced upward at the wall clock, his eyes moistened. But he did not cry.
Lou and Walter were the men their society needed them to be. In their time, we raised boys to become adults who would marry, procreate, defend their wives and children from threats, push back on teenage sons when they threw around their weight, intimidate unworthy boys who pursued their daughters, and protect their neighborhoods from danger. These expectations are partially undermined by men who sob openly. Today, in contrast, we expect men to communicate with their partners in a way that will be appreciated – a valuable resource especially when that partner is better educated and earns more money; we socialize them to bond emotionally with their children – a useful attribute for the growing number of stay -at- home dads; we encourage them to become parents who model but do not dictate to their adolescent offspring – a sensible parenting skill. These new expectations are more readily realized by men who cry openly.
Today, we simply do not need the “tough” men we once relied upon so heavily. Sadly, in facilitating the transition to their teary replacements, our tendency is to denigrate their memory by depicting them as emotionless and unloving, while celebrating the men who cry. So it is that Murray lost the match, but won over the hearts of Americans.
Perhaps our understanding of today’s men will be enriched if we thank Lou and Walter and the generations of men whose emotions were sacrificed to the general good. May they rest in peace.
Photo— Flickr/ Chris Connelly
John, As a man raised in the days and culture of the “controled” man, I actually thank my parents for these lessons. I am in no way saying that a man crying is less of a man. What I am saying is that we have lost that self control sometimes needed in a tough world. Ironically the person who taught me this self control was my mother. Life is not easy, and we live in a world of oversharing. She used to always tell me you “wash your dirty laundry inside the house.” Then we have men and women venting… Read more »
Here we go again, men showing their emotions, the right way, and the wrong way. As I’ve stated in the past, many men simply discern when and where they want to cry. Why can’t men simply be who they are? This is not to say that some men struggle with showing their emotions but when I read things like this, as a man who never struggled with showing my feeling, I feel as though I’m being scrutinized as I’m sure many men like myself may feel. A few years ago, at my brothers wake, I was fine for two days.… Read more »
At first I wanted to point out that those two situation (Gehrig and Cronkite) were different in my opinion. My first impulse was to think that while Gehrig was entitled to cry as much as he wanted during an emotional, personal moment, Cronkite was on the air doing his work, and presenting facts about somebody else (Kennedy). So you’d think crying in that situation would be an act of unprofessionalism, and likewise an anchorwoman should not have wept either. But then this man came to my mind: Herbert Morrison, unwittingly broadcasting live from the Hindenburg disaster. He was so shocked,… Read more »
John
Maybe I misunderstand you.
It seems like you see persons that allow themselves to cry are handicapped in certain situations , and that they also are persons incapable of regulating their emotions in situation then that is needed.
Are persons disabled ,less fit for any task if they are emotional ?
It sounds like you think the crying person are totally out of control, and in situations of danger they will collaps and wail like small children and be unable to protect others if needed.
Hmmmmm?
Yes, I sensed a bit of this as well. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding. I think we should respect everyone, able to cry and express themselves or not, just never think crying is a shameful act or weakness. It’s not. It’s just the expression of an emotion, like laughter. And I don’t agree not crying means “sacrificing” emotions… you are still feeling these emotions, just not expressing them. I also don’t see how this would ever to be the best for “the general good”. If the general good means feeling aversion for men crying, I’m sorry, but to hell with… Read more »
Hi Kim, I believe that men who cry openly are better fitted to many tasks, including several of those associated with the contemporary notion of good fathering. Also, I believe they are capable of regulating their emotions, just as old-time fathers were. It’s just that I suspect we regulate our emotions in ways that are compatible with the needs of our society and culture. I do believe that we sometimes tend to condemn fathers of earlier generations for not being sufficiently in touch with their emotions, but the role of father encouraged them to be stoic. It’d be like criticizing… Read more »