Midtown Humanity On Parade, Vol. 3
When it comes to crying in public in New York City, you have two schools of thought: 1) that it’s terribly lonely and sad that nobody ever stops to ask after the cryer; and 2) that it’s a freeing relief that nobody ever stops to ask after the cryer.
Both schools assume the same thing, which isn’t in fact true; I’ve battled various facial rainstorms and lost, and occasionally a stranger will inquire if I’m okay. But if that doesn’t happen, and it mostly doesn’t, it’s fine with me — I really can’t stand crying in front of people and the communal decision to pretend it’s not happening is a gift, in my view.
But when I see someone else crying, I never know what to do. Would she like someone to check her okay, hand her a tissue? Would that little kindness, rote though it is, help her? Or is she like me, better left alone until she gets home and can put cold spoons on her eyes?
There is a girl sitting in Rockefeller Plaza right now, an Asian girl, and she is bereft. She isn’t sobbing out loud, but she’s not trying to disguise her tears, either. She’s not even wiping them away, just letting them roll down. I kept watching her, thinking I should give her Kleenex and then remembering I didn’t have any on me anyway. In the end, I just went back inside.
Weepers of the city: We haven’t abandoned you. We see. We just don’t know if you want us to.
Tags: city living
I used to be a big crier growing up. Not so much now, but last August I moved to Japan to teach in a junior high school. Since I’d never taught before this, I was really nervous and shy. Considering that the seventh-graders here already had a bad reputation, this wasn’t good.
Well, I taught a class where there was one kid who did nothing but call me names and act out. The teacher who was with me didn’t do much except for “Oh, you shouldn’t say such things.” I learned later that he had Asperger’s, but between that, having the other kids still not warming up to me and my supervisor barely talking to me, it led to me crying at my desk. Not full-out sobbing, but enough so that I was holding a tissue to my eyes.
The school nurses were the first to catch on. They started murmuring, “she’s crying, she’s crying” and before I knew it, another teacher was at my side asking what had happened. Eventually things were put right, but I really appreciated how those people took the time to make sure I was OK, especially in a country where crying in public (and work) is a big no-no.
Adrienne:
My grandpa died when I was 14 and my grandma died in February of 2006. I got married in September of 2006. I was sad that my one grandma had died so recently, and that my other grandma was too frail to make the trip for the wedding, but I think I was saddest when I realized that my grandpa never got to meet my husband, or see what kind of a person I’d become. He would have LOVED my husband.
Adrienne- boy do I feel you (and Annie too)…
My grandpa died over 15 years ago, and it kills me he never got to see any of his grandkids get married- or even graduate high school, now that I think about it.
My grandma did get to meet my fiance, she loved him and was really excited about my wedding. She was bugging the crap out of my mom about wanting to wear the same dress she wore to my brother’s wedding four years ago, and my mom was worrying it wouldn’t fit.
Then she passed, so she was buried in that dress instead. one year TO THE DAY before my wedding. That did not suck at ALL, ohhh nooooo. But at the same time, I guess since I’ll say my vows standing in the exact spot where they set her casket while we said goodbye, exactly one year later, will make it more like she’s there after all. In a way.
I think it should always be OK to just hand someone a tissue; if I were crying in public (and I have done), I would appreciate the kindness of that gesture. In the “depending on the kindness of strangers” category, I remember one time as a teen I had run out of gas, I couldn’t get my mom on the phone (this was in late 80s, so I didn’t have a cell and I had used my last quarter on the pay phone), and I was crying in frustration, and a nice woman saw me and asked what was wrong, and gave me $2 for gas (which, back then, bought two gallons).
I was certainly glad that woman didn’t mind her own business.
I just moved to New York City and there was a beautiful girl inconsolably crying while talking on her cell phone that I walked by on the Lower East Side the other day. I didn’t know what to do, I stopped in my tracks. It was fascinating to see that kind of humanity on display. And then I kept walking even though I felt terrible to do so.
Adorable moment though: one woman let me stand under her umbrella at Broadway and 51st street while I tried to hail a cab (close to tears) in the rain the other day. She patted me on the shoulder and told me to smile.
Just on the subject of teachers who really don’t have a clue… One of my good friends was killed in a car accident my Junior year of high school. Unfortunately, at the same time we were reading The Things They Carried in my English class. It was bad enough to have to read it every night, but the insensitive teacher made it that much worse.
Several times during that first week (I didn’t miss a day of school) she would make an offhand comment like “losing young people is hard. Amelia knows what that’s like.” Barely holding it together, I would invariably cry. It got to the point where others in the class would see where she was headed and try to keep her from commenting so I wouldn’t spend another class period crying at my desk.
I was at the Vet with my dog yesterday (10 year old Belgian Sheepdog, and the love of my life). I took him in because I discovered the lymph nodes in his neck were swollen. Other than that he looks/acts just fine.
Anyway. The waiting room was full of people/dogs. I was in the exam room for about 5 minutes, being told that my dog has LYMPHOMA, and will probably die in about 6 weeks without treatment, in a year or so with. The vet took him in back to get some aspirates, and I staggered back into the waiting room SOBBING. Everyone looked at me, horrified, and I think they all pulled their dogs closer. I walked outside to my car to call a friend and try to calm down (didn’t work), came back in, and ONE person, across from me with a cute little dog, asked if I was OK, what was wrong, how old my dog is, etc. Helped a lot. I realize it’s scary to be at at Vet with your own sick dog and see that (there but for the grace of god go I…) but still. Everyone else just stared at me in horror.
I had my first crying in public experience last night and I thought of this post. My boyfriend broke up with me–I managed to hold it together in front of him but cried for about 3 straight hours after. On the subway, on the bus, waiting in line for the bus, etc. I was so frustrated there’s nowhere to cry in private in NYC, so everyone is staring at you, yet no one really acknowledges you. No one gave me a tissue, and I wish someone would have.
A woman I used to work with would cry in the ladies room almost every morning. She was a single mom and her toddler daughter would grab her legs every morning, screaming mommy please don’t leave me. That’s when I decided I wasn’t having children. It was a routine for her, but it freaked me out. I’ve seen many women cry in restrooms and outdoors. I offer a tissue, and ask them if they’d like me to hail a cab for them or get them something to drink. I try to cry in private, usually when I run. Sometimes I start when I’m on the phone with a friend. I have to hang up.
I was staying in Brooklyn (I’m Australian) and one day in NYC I said goodbye to a friend that I had made over the summer. We parted ways and went to our sides of the subway platforms, he was headed upstate and I was headed back to Brooklyn. He waved and blew me a kiss as his train came, blocking him from view. It left and I sat down on the platform and cried until my train came. No body came to ask if I was alright. I really could have done with that. Maybe a hug if it was not too much. It was the saddest day of my life, so far. We’ve not seen each other in over a year. I keep his hand written note of his addresses and numbers in my purse, and when I lost that, I cried even harder. Luckily it was returned to me. I was happy then.
But crying in another country is not good. I felt rather alone.