AND YOU CRIED

Dear Spike:

Both your mother and I wear our emotions on our sleeves, so it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to learn that you’re just a tad bit sensitive.

OK, that’s the understatement of the year. You’re not just a tad sensitive — you emote like Beijing pollutes.

A few weeks ago, your babysitter was reading you the book, “Curious George Goes to the Hospital.” As usual, George got into a bit of mischief and one of the hospital’s nurses scolded him.

And you cried for 20 minutes.

A few days later, we were watching the “Super Why!” episode in which the Super Readers were settling a dispute between the Three Little Pigs and the Big Bad Wolf. When they asked the old dog why he was being so mean, he began to cry.

And you sobbed for an hour.

The slightest hint of melancholy in a musical number makes your chin quiver and your eyes water. So the Beatles’ “Hey Jude” is out. So too for all but the chorus of Don McClean’s “American Pie.” And Burt Bacharach’s entire songbook has been banned from our home.

But I’m glad you’re in touch with your emotions, because people who steel themselves from sorrow are also stealing themselves of joy — for you simply cannot block out one and enjoy the fullness of the other.

So cry, baby, cry.

Love,
dad