Men Need Their Kleenex

For years we’ve lived with the stereotype of the crying woman. Take a woman to a chick-flick and she’s bound to cry. If someone dies at the end of the movie, she cries. If someone doesn’t cry at the end of the movie, she cries. If a couple falls in love during the movie and ends up together, she cries. If they fall in love and don’t end up together, she cries. Women cry at weddings. They cry watching TV shows. Heck, women even cry at commercials. There’s no doubt about it; women need their Kleenex.

I’m not here to suggest that women’s need for anti-viral facial tissue is, in anyway, over emphasized. To argue that women don’t need Kleenex is like arguing that white guys don’t need dance lessons. Let’s face it; some stereotypes are true. That, after all, is why they’re stereotypes.

My point is that men need their fair share of Kleenex as well. And I don’t mean just to blow our noses. We’re not unemotional, unfeeling Neanderthals whose only use for nose tissue is reliable mucus collection. No, we feel things too. We cry tears. We need our eyes dried occasionally as well. And I’m not just talking about little girly men who drink herbal tea instead of coffee or who think fishing is cruel. I’m talking about real men: men who drink beers without lime; men who believe God rested on the seventh day so that He could watch football; men who consider steak and any side item a vegetarian dish. Testosterone alone doesn’t dilute our tears; we need soft, fluffy tissues for that.

Think I’m wrong? Just think about it. Women cry at movies, right? Well, so do men. Sit down with any guy to watch Field of Dreams and, unless his father ran out on the family to become a gay burlesque dancer, trust me; he’ll cry his eyes out. And what about Brian’s Song? Ask any real man to name the most touching relationship movie of all time, and Brian’s Song is at the top of the list, just above Lethal Weapon, Lethal Weapon 2, Turner and Hooch, and Leathal Weapon 4 (Lethal Weapon 3 did little to touch guys on an emotional level).

But it’s not just movies. Guys are deeper than that. We cry over sports too. The night Indiana beat North Carolina to win the 1981 national championship, I watched my Tarheel-loving older brother crumble into a mass of tears and anguish before my very eyes. How many blue-collar Buffalo Bills fans have wept following a Super Bowl Sunday? How many rough and tough Chicago Cubs-loving teamsters have boo-hooed their way through one October after another? And how often have men in Cleveland cried over… well, everything.

Yes, we men need our Kleenex too. We feel. We care. If you cut us, we bleed (usually the colors of our favorite sports team). So pass that tissue box over, ladies. The guy with the buffalo wing sauce on his chin and a cold brewsky in his hands wants to have a good cry.