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It was a gloomy November morning. A frigid wind was blowing as raindrops fell to the ground and kissed the earth.

I gazed out at the endless rows of gravestones that stretched out before me. Each was a moving reminder of a life cut short by the brutality of war. All hopes and dreams were cruelly shattered in an instant.

I looked over at my grandfather who was smartly adorned in his World War II uniform. Medals cascaded down his chest like a waterfall of honor. He stood tall and proud as he executed a salute with precision and complete veneration.

The Last Post began to play as he stared solemnly ahead. Tears streamed down his weathered face as his eyes glistened with an acute mixture of sorrow and reminiscence. Teardrops steadily fell to the ground and joined those shed by Mother Nature herself.

That was the first time that I ever saw my grandfather cry.

The man who had taken me into his home when I was but a small, forgotten child had always stood as a pillar of absolute strength. He was my hero who could overcome anything that life would throw his way. A kind and quiet man with a "no-nonsense" approach to life. Someone who others looked up to as a model of what decency was all about.

And yet, here he stood before me…silently crying.

That can be a very difficult thing for a small child to understand. After all, "real" men are not supposed to cry.

Are they?

Is that not what we are taught as we grow up?

Men are expected to be stoic and strong. They are who we lean on when the going gets tough. To openly display emotions such as crying is seen as weak and unmasculine. A shameful activity that brings forth ridicule and judgment.

And yet, there was my hero…openly weeping.

The two simply did not compute in the mind of a small child. How could this be?

My grandfather taught me an awful lot about life. He is the reason I eventually became a writer, and I have always followed his advice to be genuine and real with other people.

At this moment in time, that was exactly what he was doing. He was being real. There were no false pretences being displayed to please the fickle norms of society.

This stands out as one of the most important lessons my grandfather ever taught me. Not only did he give me permission to cry, but he emphasized the importance of staying true to ourselves. Despite however this may be perceived by others.

I recall a number of years ago when I was a school principal. One of our students had tragically died in an accident, and I had the unenviable task of delivering this message to my staff. It was a soul-sucking experience and the entire school was utterly devastated.

I understood the need to deliver the news in the meeting from a position of strength, calm, and empathy. To lead them all through this harrowing time.

I sobbed through that entire meeting.

Many would think that this is not the position of strength that others are looking for during a crisis. Perhaps, but a funny thing happened. I gained more respect from my staff on that day than at any other time during my career.

I was sharing in their pain and weeping was part of the process.

I was being real.

In truth, I do not cry very often. I have been through an awful lot in my life and it takes a lot for me to display this emotion. It does happen, however, and usually without warning. You can just never plan to be authentic. It just happens.

When this does occur, it tends to deepen relationships and the understanding between myself and others. I am never afraid or ashamed to share in their pain. I allow myself to be vulnerable and openly display my emotions.

My grandfather bestowed many gifts upon me throughout his life. One of the most valuable was delivered to me on that gloomy, November day.

It was then that he showed me that real men do cry. They are authentic beings who should not be so easily led astray by the unrealistic expectations of others. They stand tall and embrace the moment with pride and without fear of retribution. They feel for others and do whatever they can to be empathetic and help ease their burden.

This was a very powerful lesson for a small child to learn. However, it is one that has stuck with me like glue, even after all these years later.

To this very day, I can still hear my grandfather whispering to me in the background.

"Just be real, Leonard."

I'm listening, Grandpa.

Originally published on Substack.

Who is Leonard?

Founder of Infinite Impulse.

Writer| Reader, and most recently… cancer warrior. Retired teacher and school principal.

If a story in Infinite Impulse made you pause, breathe a little easier, or remember a piece of your own forgotten history this week, pass it to one person who needs to step away from the noise today.