I like to pride myself as someone who is sensitive, one who is in touch with my feelings, can feel the zeitgest, the wave, whatever. Yeah, I can be a bit sensitive at times. Sometimes, too sensitive and I develop a sense of “righteous rage.” There have been a few times at work when something happened and I became overly zealous in response. It worked out well once. When one of my peers advised we all stand down, I instead spoke up and said, “No, it is time for us to stand up.” We did, inspired by my words and it worked out for us. We toppled an overbearing VP and we were vindicated by the efforts of our HR staff who led the investigation.

But I am talking about something a bit more extreme. When did I become so ridiculously over-emotional? Thirty years ago, I attended Les Miserables and later, Phantom of the Opera on Broadway. As the orchestra was tuning up, before the curtain was even raised, I already found myself fighting back tears. WTF?  The play hadn’t even started and here I was almost in a puddle.

Last October, my wife and I attended a concert featuring the San Diego Symphony Orchestra in their premier performance of Shostakovich’s Fifth Symphony. As the conductor, Rafael Payare, was introduced and strode across the stage, I had tears of admiration for this powerful performance about to be presented to us all. Up to this point, the orchestra hadn’t even played a note.

A few months ago, the new Beatles release, Now and Then was premiered on the radio and I was tuned in at 10:00 a.m. ready to listen. After the second or third listen, I found myself fighting back tears. Nostalgia? Sadness for what might have been if John and George were still with us? No, it was just powerful, even though I don’t count myself as a Beatles worshipper. Same with Billy Joel’s latest, Turn the Lights Back On. Destroyed me.

Twenty or 30 years ago, my mom remarked that I “always felt things deeper than the rest of us.” I now wish I could go back and ask her where she got her insight into me. It’s not like I used to sit around crying in front of my parents when I was a little kid. Certainly not as a teen. My mom passed away two months ago at 95. You’d think, from what I’ve written so far, that I would have been reduced to a crying jag for three years or so. The day I learned from my sister, Claudia, that she was gone, I handled it. That afternoon, I spoke to my mom (or her spirit) and I softly cried as I thanked her for being such a great mom. And that was it. One quick cry for a great life.

I will watch a TV show or movie and at the big reveal or sentimental moment, there I am, fighting hard to be as stoic as I can. Damn director got me again. It’s like a light switch. Am I that easy?

Years ago, when my kids were young (this was 2004 or so), we watched Rainman, the movie starring Dustin Hoffman and Tom Cruise as brothers. Toward the end of the movie, there is a pivotal scene where the two brothers are alone and they bond for the first time. I began bawling and had to leave the room. My kids were alarmed. When the movie was over, I explained to my kids and my wife that the scene was very powerful and difficult for me. My youngest sister, Megan, was born mentally retarded. Dustin’s character was not mentally retarded but he was highly autistic, to the point of requiring daily care and supervision. He was portrayed by Hoffman as someone who was not a fully functional adult. It was a beautiful and touching scene in the movie and it made me think of my sister in that moment; but it was just too powerful for me. I’m not embarrassed by my reaction but it sometimes seems to come from out of nowhere.

I don’t think of this “over emotionalism” as a handicap. In fact it is given a term, Highly Sensitive Person. Oh, great. Maybe I’m not that bad. But still. Sometimes I feel like, “Alright, enough, it’s just a movie / song / play / concert.” And then the right moment hits and I’m feeling the tear ducts getting a bit compromised.

It’d be great if I could channel it to something good or earn a profit from it. It can be a hindrance. It can also help me release emotions I didn’t even know I had.

A few years ago, my friend Bob and his wife, Linda, invited me and my wife, Sidney, to dinner after they had moved to Punta Gorda, FL. We enjoyed great conversations, and of course, reflected on great memories from our almost 55 year friendship since high school. After a few reminisces, I began to tell Bob about a conversation we had back in 1971. I said to Bob, “So, do you remember that time you asked me, ‘What is your favorite Allman Brothers song?’”

Now, you have to understand Bob and I and the rest of my best friends were all Allman Brother Band freaks, so we endlessly parsed their lyrics and played their songs.

The problem is that as I asked Bob that question, my voice began breaking and I couldn’t continue. Sidney said, “Oh, he often gets like this.” Gee thanks, wife, for the support.

But I was too emotional to continue the story. And they were left waiting for an explanation of where the story was going as we sat at the dinner table.

The answers to that question were this:

• The song I told Bob back in 1971 was In Memory of Elizabeth Reed
• I fondly remembered Bob’s reaction to the song and I recalled his left eyebrow raised as if a query, as he paused and then said, “Okay.”
• After days of analyzing everything about my reaction at their dinner table, I realized I was recalling a bonding moment, the exact point in time that we were going to become lifelong friends, although I could not have known that at that time more than 50 years ago.

So poor Bob and Linda just wanted to hear my story and I couldn’t deliver until a later date when I was more composed. I eventually texted the story to Bob and Linda and explained that it was the realization of our friendship combined with this minor memory which has lasted in my brain all these years where I can still see his eyebrow raised and then him quietly saying, “Okay.” How do you define bonding? I just did.

So much for story-telling. So, I have this disease. Or something. No, it is not a gift or a curse. It just gets in the way sometimes. Interestingly, no tears in writing this piece or in reproducing these memories.

And most times, it is tears of joy – as I said, waiting for a Broadway play to begin, telling a friend a warm memory, watching a big scene in a movie.

I could say, “I’ll get over it,” but it gets worse as I get older. My wife calls me an old softie (thanks again, dear) and I know it is true.

Well, I guess there are worse things in life. Like not being able to cry at all (like Dustin’s character, Raymond, in Rainman).

And then the other day, I was texting my friend, Mike, another great friend from my high school friends who is a best friend of Bob. One thing I wrote him was that I hadn’t had any creative spark and hadn’t posted anything new on this blog since November. I did begin a SciFi novel back in November but I have not touched it since December. And after texting Mike and doing some yardwork, I was in the shower and these words came spilling out from out of nowhere. As soon as I shaved, I ran and began writing this down. I’m still writing this and I’m trying to catch up with all my thoughts and emotions related to this.

So, thanks Mike for inspiring me! You did not suggest I write, but it was perhaps the reflection of an old friend reaching out to me that got my juices going again. For crying out loud, what would we do without friends?

Chris Ebel
3/9/24

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