The first time I cried in public was the year I served as president of our teacher’s union. We were having a difficult time in negotiations and union leadership was attempting to gather support among the teachers to cease volunteering for things. We wanted everyone to arrive and depart school as required – nothing more – and attend school board meetings as a show of solidarity. I stood on stage of the Plainwell High School auditorium and made my case. The deeper into my plea, the more emotional I became. I felt strongly about the issue, my voice cracked, and my feelings leaked out of my eyes. I cried as a child, but this was different. I was embarrassed, but the issue was more important than my shortcoming.
I made it through fifteen years as an elementary school principal before publicly experiencing the same cracked voice and leaky eyes. It was my final day as principal and the entire staff and student body held a SURPRIZE going away assembly for me. My staff, five hundred and twenty students, several dozen parents, and the school superintendent were in attendance. People offered words of praise, and I was presented with a homemade quilt with squares signed by the students and teachers. The four beautifully voiced Hassenzahl sisters sang to us, and students read the book “Ira Says Good-Bye”. Tears weld up several times during the presentations, and when it was time for me to offer my good-bye, my voice cracked when I said, “Thank you for loving me, and I want you to know I love you too.”
I had the same experience when I served as master of ceremonies for Elizabeth’s dance recitals. Her name caught in my throat each time I introduced her. When it was time to introduce my son, Michael, at a school assembly to recognize his perfect score on the State of Michigan’s fourth grade MEAP test, I couldn’t speak at all, so I just waved him up. Points of pride involving my family strike me at my core. It’s a part of who I am.
I had the same experience when I offered toasts when each of the kids got married. I knew it was coming, and nothing I did to prepare could stop it.
The first time I experienced the sensation as a superintendent was shortly after my dad passed. I was sharing a story about him with my staff, and I choked up. I shared books each fall with the staff during opening day festivities. Some of my comments brought the same cracked voice. When we dedicated the new track I worked so hard to fund, I cracked again. I found some points of public pride to be overwhelming.
I had a fellow superintendent that shared the same experience. He didn’t look for it. It just happened. When he secured a job in a new district he decided to make the rounds of each school building in his about to be departed district to share the news. As he was preparing to leave for his first visit, he got a call from the building principal. “I want you to know the staff is taking bets on how long you’ll speak before breaking down.” With his warning in hand, he made his appearance, told his story, and left. As he opened the door to make his exit, he turned back to the staff and asked, “Who won the bet?” Some people don’t understand that some of us wear our hearts on our sleeves.
I attended my first baby shower last week-end. It was a virtual shower held on Zoom for Kate and Michael. Although I wasn’t formally invited, I watched. It was the first such shower for a grandchild in almost fourteen years so, in my mind, it was a must see event.
Kate and Mike sat in front of a made for television set crafted by Mike. They thanked everyone for attending the Covid inspired event, and then Mike said, “I want you to know how happy I am to share all of this with you. Sometimes I get emotional so bear with me. When Kate and I married in Hawaii, I started to tear up as I looked at her. She looked me in the eyes and said, Buckle Up Buttercup. That helped me make it through the ceremony.”
He made it through the forty minute shower, and everyone enjoyed our time together. At one point Kate’s mom, Barb, spoke directly to Ruth about how long each of them had waited for a child from Mike and Kate. She went on to say, “When Katie told me she was pregnant, I thought she was lying.” I looked at Ruth during that brief exchange, saw her tears, and mine followed.
Moving forward, there will be moments of happiness, pride, and sorrow that bring more tears. They are a part of my life just like the air I breathe. If there is a time I wish to avoid the flow, I’ll do my best to heed Kate’s advice – Buckle Up Buttercup.