I don't know about you, but I do not cry often. As an adult male who has aged 36 years, I have found that there are not too many experiences left that can force me to cry the way I used to, or the way my kids do when they are upset. Honestly, I am not too sure WHEN crying became something I tried to avoid, instead of something that was ok, but I do know that it's an infrequent thing in my life to be sure—and it's probably not making a comeback any time soon.
I remember it like it was yesterday. The year is 2011, and the day is Feb. 6. My family and I have been watching together as our beloved Green Bay Packers played the Pittsburgh Steelers in a game you might have heard of called the Super Bowl. It had started off well for us, the Packers had been in the lead for the entire game, and now in the waning moments, the Steelers were attempting a comeback, in an attempt to steal our joy.
My brother once referred to pop as "trinkle" for almost an entire year of his life just because he thought it would be funny. That alone should tell you all you need to know about him, but I'll continue. He once drank an entire container of boysenberry syrup at a Perkins at midnight for $5, which he then spent on one of those claw games in the entryway to gain possession of a stuffed duck, which he then almost immediately lost.