The Crying Game – Part Two

 

 

Having ascertained that the commission of tears arising from physical and/or emotional hurt resulted in a sympathetic reaction from certain people, I committed this to memory. I have rarely encountered much physical pain, enjoying good health and my profession being one where one is at most at risk of a paper cut rather than an errant chainsaw, collapsing ceiling or chemical ingestion. The early conditioning that I have been subjected to, as I know understand, appears to have resulted in me being impervious to many emotional injuries that others suffer from. Even the horrendous sensations which arise from my wounding as a consequence of criticism does not cause the tears to fall. Instead, I must focus on repairing the wound through retreat or the instigation of fury in order to gather fuel. The attention this requires means that I do not suffer the immediate reaction of becoming upset. I must feign upset in order to attract the required sympathy and in doing so I use that issued sympathy in order to bring about the control I require over the subject.

My tuition in the art and use of crying later embraced a different catalyst and one which has served to drive me ever onwards and upwards. I have many gifts and of those the one that was cherished most by my father was my academic ability. As I have mentioned beforehand, he was a very intelligent man, well-read and with an interest in the world at large, something which be bestowed on all his offspring. This served him well in both his careers of commerce and then academia. His was the steady hand at the tiller of our academic progress and he sought to steer a path through the choppy waters of my mother’s ambitions for us, our own desires and what he felt would serve us best. The three, as might you expect, were not always compatible.

I excelled at school which naturally resulted in my progression to sixth form college and I was always destined for university. Naturally it was to the most prestigious that I was directed towards and I achieved admission whereupon in such a fertile environment I began to flex my tendrils as I embraced my dark art, but that is a tale for another time. Alongside this I flourished at my chosen discipline and eventually I graduated with a double first. It was this achievement which Dr E honed in on in one of our discussions.

“So a double first, quite the achievement,” he remarked. I nodded. He was not wrong.

“What did your parents think about it?” he asked.

“My friends once they had their results went racing away to telephone their parents to let them know the outcome. I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“It had already been arranged that I was meeting my parents for dinner that evening and I would tell them my degree result once we ordered.”

“What did you think of that arrangement? Weren’t you keen to tell your parents sooner of your success?”

“I suppose so but I knew there was little point. Even if I had tried to telephone them, nobody would have answered. My mother would have deliberately absented the house so I could not reach them so as to avoid spoiling the anticipation at dinner.”

“So this arrangement was at your mother’s behest?”

“Of course. Who else? If I achieved the expected outcome the evening would pass pleasantly, if I did not, I would be subjected to a lengthy cross-examination unable to avoid it by putting the telephone down.”

“I see. It was fortuitous then that you achieved such an excellent result.”

“Fortune had nothing to do with it. This dinner was placed in the diary as soon as my mother knew when the examination results would be posted. It was a further incentive for me to achieve what was expected of me.”

Dr E nodded and made a note.

“How did the meal progress then? How did they react to news of your achievement?”

“Once our orders had been placed and the waiter walked away, my mother turned to me and asked ‘Well?’ I responded with, ‘I obtained a double first’ and she answered by saying, ‘As expected. I will make the call,’ and she left the table to telephone the other family members to let them know, probably her brother first of all out of them all.”

“No mention of well done or congratulations?” asked Dr E.

I shook my head.

“And your father?” he asked.

“My father waited until my mother was out of earshot and he reached across and placed his hand on my arm and said, “Well done HG, very well done, that is a fantastic outcome. I know just how hard you have had to work for that result. It is a magnificent result, truly outstanding. I am so very proud of you son, very proud indeed,” and then as he said the word proud his voice cracked and I looked up into his eyes and I could see that he was crying. I had never seen my father cry before. Ever. I had seen him concerned, downcast, worried and so much more, but never the tears. His face was fixed with a huge smile and he tried to speak again but he was overcome with pride. Pride for me. Just me. I had not seen anything like it.”

“How did you feel about him showing such pride for you?”

“I was taken aback but then I felt this surge through me and it felt amazing. It was visceral and ever so powerful as I continued to look at him, the tears filling his eyes and he kept nodding. His hand patted my arm, I can still picture it now. He wasn’t able to speak but the look on his face and that nodding told me that somehow he felt that the job was done, the mission had been accomplished and he was proud of me for doing so. I have never forgotten that moment.”

“Why?” asked Dr E.

“Because the way I felt when I saw my father cry tears of pride at my achievement made me want to see that again. The sense of power that he imbued in me, his praise, his pride, his adoration of my achievement was so edifying that he made me strive even harder. Oh, my mother thinks she is the driving force behind my success and it would be wrong to say she has not been. She has been a huge influence but from that point onwards, my postgraduate achievement, my securing employment and advancement through the hierarchy to where I am now and also in terms of what the future may bring has been driven by my father. I wanted to feel that power again and for that to happen I wanted to see those tears of pride again. So I worked damn hard. I never knew that pride would make someone cry. I never knew that someone’s proud tears would make me feel so powerful.”

“I see. Did you see those tears of pride again from your father?”

I felt the first flicker of the ignition of my fury at this question.

“No. Once again something special to me was taken from me.”

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14 thoughts on “The Crying Game – Part Two”

  1. How beautiful! Your father is such a sweetheart. OMG what a nice nice story. I can imagine he was your motivation. I am sure he is still very proud from above. Not only proud but making you company. You have way to go in making many more achievements in your life. ❤️❤️. Making other people who love you and are near to cry of proudness. 🌔. And also yourself that you can also be very proud of yourself.
    This postings where we can “feel” feelings are very gratifying to read. 💓💓.
    Have a very nice day and thank you for posting so early and giving us such a nice read before starting the hard part of the day 😘😘😘

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  2. I’m interested HG, how do you manage to cry if you don’t feel emotional pain ?

    I’ve developed a strong shield for this (although I’m definitely not an N). But if I don’t feel it ? I can’t force it ? I’m hugely intrigued how you manage to ?

    I think I have caused many people to become frustrated with me, when they have seeming tried hard to make me cry – but I don’t. I always wondered why it felt as though that was their aim. Through your teachings I at least understand why.

    I’m intrigued though, how you manage it. I have seen many an N fake tears, whether joyous or sad. It looks so fake to me (I’m sure yours appear more genuine) so please do tell and I’ll work on it – just for you 😉

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    1. But I do, I feel pain when I am wounded by criticism so I call on that sensation to squeeze out the tears. The rest – the noises, body language, expressions – are all learnt.
      How did you develop your shield?

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      1. Wow !! I can feel enough for genuine body language. That’s such a strange concept to me that you had to learn this. Though I see it with my MN. Some he has well rehearsed and others less so.

        My sheild. Just over time really, I guess there is only so much a person can go through before you build up more and more barriers which become stronger every time until like you it becomes impervious.

        All a bit deep for me today HG! I much preferred talking about crying porn !

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  3. I imagine with the good, tender heart your father had, the next milestone for you that you may have seen tears of pride for you is if you had become a father yourself and gave him a grandchild. I know you made the right choice for yourself not becoming a parent though.

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  4. I know I shouldn’t, but damn it HG that made me feel bad for you. I’d have given you a hug had this been a face to face conversation.

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  5. HG, Sweetie…..

    One nod from dad is worth more than a thousand kisses from mom.

    I am not sure why this is true-but it is. Men so rarely show emotion….and they usually expect more from their kids.

    This story makes me weepy…..❤️

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  6. **That SHOULD read:

    **Men so rarely show emotion…..BECAUSE they usually expect so much from their kids!

    Sorry, HG!❤️💋

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  7. Im proud of you H.G.
    Thank you for articulating your feelings…in a visual way. I’m proud
    Of you…don’t work too hard. had its early Saturday. Gets some rest…

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  8. “It was a further incentive for me to achieve what was expected of me.”

    Expected. Of. Me.

    I feel your pain.

    I descend from scientific family (technology, medicine, philology) and everyone expected a lot from me. A LOT.

    Everyone considered me as their extention. Everyone taught me (big thanks for that, I appreciate it!). Everyone wanted me to continue their careers. When I chose my own way (from that list of specialities, but not because I wanted to please someone, it was my soul’s choice), the rest of my family (who had other specialities) was furious. My father even disowned me!

    Another members of my family (whose speciality i chose) were pleased, but expected the Nobel prize from me. No more, no less.

    But, the miracle never happened. I graduated at university, got PhD, continue to work, nothing extraordinary. Of course, they aren’t proud of me. I’m the living monument of disappointment for them. But I don’t care about it. I live as I want and I like it.

    Amazingly, but the only one person who is genuinely proud of me is my narc-husband! So, miracle happens sometimes. Life is strange, but wonderful by all means.

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