Until very recently, whenever dads were shredded by some tragedy, they dug a hole somewhere inside themselves and wept in it. Even the non-alpha, non-hard-ass data-enterers and periodontists born in the shadow of Nixon will tell you, proudly, "My kids never saw me cry." Still, we occasionally stumbled upon them—our dads, I mean—sobbing in the den when they thought we were at the neighbors' house. And, tiptoeing away so they never saw us, we learned two lessons. First: Of course, of course, men need to express their grief. And second: We do that shit in secret. Not anymore. |
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