Paul Parillo Man Tears

Damn you generic tapestry of observational comedians! Your unoriginal slanders towards human interactions and idiosyncrasies have done enough harm to your humble audiences! Well, I suppose that’s a bit general. Speaking specifically, this is the pedantic observation of the woes and faux pas of the “common” man – a statistic who, through the natural siphon of new generations, applies so very little now.

No doubt you’ve heard topics spoken about men being dirty, lazy, bad in bed, inattentive, crass, dumb and worse of all – apathetic; and in some cases, apathy bordering on nihilism.

I would be wrong in presuming that all men have sauntered off from these descriptions – there will always be men like that (but now they represent a minority). Whether it’s been a growth of honesty among men, or perhaps the influence of a stronger female presence in day to day life, most men have become more sensitive than ever.

Like a bunch of little Hugh Grants running around everywhere, men have gone from some weird repressed “Macho Man” type (who only likes sports, beer and ball-scratchin') to a gentler, nobler and overtly more aware species. The common man can go watch the game with his buds, and still find time that night to cuddle with his partner and listen (actually listen) to what happened to them at work. Instead of stifling an emotion, men have become more in tune with their empathetic body clock – no more do they wonder if it’s “just sweat coming out of my eyes”. Tears have re-entered their proper place in the perfectly habitable space within the tear ducts.

Part of me thinks perhaps every man, from the beginning of our species, had this “sensitive gene” but for some reason repressed it. Now and again it would pop up into daily life, but if someone saw you cry, you were considered either gay or retarded. I wouldn’t be surprised if men gathered secretly to just cry and express themselves (maybe that’s what the masons do).

But luckily, there has been less repression and more expression these days. So whenever I hear the recycled jokes about a man’s impeccable ability to be apathetic, I feel pity on that comedian, and so desire to hug them, until maybe, just maybe, we cry in each other’s arms.   

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