I found myself teary-eyed as Dan Roberts sang “Beaches of Cheyenne,” on Thursday night at the Chamber banquet. So I figure it’s time to come clean, and give readers perhaps the most true glimpse into who I am.
That was not the first time I cried because of a song, or for that matter even the first time I cried when I heard that song.
I am a crier — not an I-don’t-get-my-way -throw-a-temper-tantrum kind of crier, but an overly empathetic crier that gets teary-eyed at a preview for a heart-warming film.
I remember a story my mom told me — though I don’t
remember the incident very well.
I was about 6 and was downstairs watching television.
I remember at the time a lot of kids at school were listening to La Bamba, so when I saw the movie I stopped.
My mom, who was upstairs, suddenly heard hysterical crying.
Of course, as a mother would, she thought she was about to have to make a trip to the hospital. Her heart was racing by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs and found me sitting on the couch with my head in a pillow sobbing.
“Tova, what’s wrong? Are you OK?,” she asked. I lifted my head, red eyes and running nose and between sniffles and whimpers said, “Ritchie Valens died.”
Of course in reality Valens died well before I was born, but my little heart was broken — for his brother, for his mom, for his Donna.
It was only a sign of things to come.
I remember when my dad took me to get my driver’s license.
The line of cars was so long it took us nearly two hours to get to the front.
The parking lot where the test was given was below the one where the cars were lined up, so as you waited you could watch people taking their test.
I wasn’t too nervous: I had taken the test there before and failed because I hit the curb while parking the car at the end of the test, an automatic failure.
But I still watched intently as others went.
There was a man about 35 or 40 (an “older” man to my 16-year-old eyes) taking the test.
He hit cone after cone, and each time got out of the car to fix them.
As tears began to pour from my eyes, my dad thought I may have been getting nervous.
But I just felt bad for the man. I thought about how much he probably wanted to get his license, and how he probably would be disappointed when he completed the course.
Luckily I passed my test that time, but I can still see the tall man picking up the cones in the parking lot below me.
Although I picked out two vivid crying stories to tell you —
don’t think the tears fall few and far between.
Each Sunday evening, I sit and whimper as I watch “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” on ABC, where a team of designers, carpenters and area workers rebuild the home of a needy family. I even cry at the Sears commercial that summarizes the show.
So, if you do happen to catch me in the act, don’t feel bad. It’s a heart-felt reaction that I think I was probably born with.
Usually, it’s not so much that I’m upset, just that I’m moved.
Tova Fruchtman is managing editor for the Quay County Sun. Contact her at: