My name is Richard, and I like to cry.
Okay, so maybe ‘like’ is too strong a word. And maybe it isn’t fitting with the theme of this post to insinuate I am admitting a fault, like an alcoholic at an AA meeting.
What I really want to say is that I’m now 35 years old and finally I cry about things. I’m sure I cried a lot as a kid, and I know I’ve cried at significant, like-altering moments as an adult. But yesterday I listened to Andrew Peterson’s new album, Counting Stars for the first time, and two thirds of it had tears welling up in my eyes. Megan and I took the kids to see How To Train Your Dragon at the dollar theater a week or so ago, and I cried. There are a few books that have me crying every time I read them. It’s always funny when the kids see it and they freak out, wondering what in the world is going on.
As an individual, I still consider myself emotionally defective. But maybe I’m moving in the right direction.