My normal process for determining proper subject matter is to brainstorm, jot down a few ideas then choose from them. Among those topics that have continued to surface in my mind is the debate as to the appropriateness for a man to cry. As I think in preparation, I come across my first memory of hurt feelings. I was approximately three years of age (I have never shared this story before). It was around 1975 or so when I was spending time with my grandmother. I LOVED this woman to the degree I would cry every time I had to leave her. My parents loved us all, but she was the first one who demonstrated love in the way I received. I don’t know if it was her patient nature, calming voice or violent way in which she defended my way to express feelings. I’ll share the back story. My grandmother was around forty one or forty two. She was the entrepreneur for her alcohol and adult entertainment/gambling start up. Ok, that’s what we would say today, but back then we said she ran a speakeasy, gambling spot and was a madame. It’s strange how I knew the line of work at an early age, as I think. She never discussed what was going on, but I was able to put the puzzle pieces together since my homelife was the complete opposite regarding the criminal element. My parents were pentecostal church members, and my father would go on to become a Bishop. As I stated before, very different. That may also be the reason I enjoyed being with my grandmother. Getting back to the story, She taught me to be observant, speak little but always watch and remember. This skill would serve me well as I aged. I recall a specific incident in which a patron was a bit intoxicated. He saw me watching him. He must not have approved of the way I was looking at him (as I write this, I realize the look I gave him was more than likely the look my son would give when observing various situations), so he asked why I was looking at him. Even at that age, I was not going to say I'm looking at you because you’re drunk and acting goofy although I felt that way. I continued watching, and he continued to get aggravated. When that happened, it made me watch him more. He began to swear, and I was not accustomed to that, so I began to cry. He laughed and laughed. When my grandmother saw me crying, she pulled me to the side and asked what happened. I explained I did what she told me, but the guy became irritated etc. My grandmother (Mary, my mother called her little mary. That was confusing lol) kneeled down to my level, giving me a lollipop and whispering “look at who did it baby” I did. She then proceeded to calmly walk to the guy, bent over and said something quietly in his ear then made an extremely fast hand movement then slowly backed from him. I then noticed blood from the man’s abdomen area. She then wiped off a small rusty screwdriver, stood tall then did an ocular sweep of the entire room as silence consumed the atmosphere. She said as loudly as I had ever heard her speak to that point or since, don’t f*** with my grandson damnit!!! Get this piece of shit out of here!!! Now, I had never seen my grandmother violent before or since, but in that situation, she was. I didn’t understand her response, but in having conversation prior to her passing, I grew to know she responded that way in defense of my right to express my feelings in a healthy way. She feared I would not survive what was to come if I couldn’t have a healthy outlet. I joked with her about her choice of action to teach that lesson, she would laugh and say “well, it worked”. I would never go to the degree of sticking someone in the belly, but I would welcome anyone wishing to debate the topic. I ask, do men cry?