There's Something Wrong With Me.

Really, there is.

Something is horribly, terribly, wrong with me.

When I was 11 years old my mom told me she thought there was something wrong with me because I never cried when I saw the commercials on television of the homeless children. To this day she swears she never said that, but I was there! I know! And she did.

She said that I wasn't sensitive. (She also added that if she had to "spank some sensativity into me" - she would! That's some pretty Politically Incorrect parenting right there, is it not?)

Of course, my husband tells me I'm overly-sensitive.

Needless to say - I'm confused.

But nonetheless, from a very early age, I have been moved to tears...very few times. I mean, I've cried. I don't mean to say that. But the times are a little odd, I will admit.

For instance:

First time I saw Steel Magnolias? No tears.

First time I heard Carmen was coming to town for a concert and I had been asked to take up an offering at the event? Uncontrollable tears.

Watching my husband walk across the stage and accept his law degree after four GRUELING years? Dry eyes.

Seeing Celine Dion appear on stage on the bow of a boat? Water works.

Commercials of hungry people? None.

Me, being hungry? Many.

See? I know there's something wrong with me. I am admitting this. Please don't leave me a comment that chastises my callousness. I KNOW THIS.

Yesterday at church was another great example of the insensitivity that my mom was speaking about. It was a special Sunday dedicated to the Educators in our congregation who are now fully engulfed in this new school year. And a movie, a "short film" if you will, was played for them.

It was a sweet story - it really was - in fact, if you'd like to see it you can go here to do so. You will probably love it. You will probably cry. It's about a little boy and his teacher and I think a bottle of perfume or something, I'm not sure. There may have been a puppy in it, I can't remember.

Point is, as I sat in the choir loft and watched the movie I noticed something odd happening all around me, women crying. I mean SQUAWLING, BAWLING, wiping their eyes, and reaching for more Kleenex. At one incredibly awkward moment a lady next to me picked up a box of Kleenex and proceeded to pass them out to everyone around her - except me.

She looked at me in total disgust.

But I couldn't help it! There's a real possibility I'm dead inside.

Even now as I'm typing this post I just looked up at the AG and said, "Hey, Mr. AG, can you think of a time in our marriage that I cried at an incredibly ludicrous time?" To which he calmly replied, "Celine Dion."

"Okay, can you think of a time when I should have cried but instead..."

"Laughed?"

"Laughed? I laugh?"

"You always laugh at completely inopportune times. Like the time when we had a really tragic thing happen in our family and I sat you down on the couch and broke the news to you and you got so tickled that you continually repeated, 'Stop - I'm gonna pee...stop - I'm gonna pee."
"Oh, yeah, I remember that. (Long pause.) Honey, do you think I'm dead inside? And be seri..."

"I absolutely do. No doubt about it."

So will you all please pray for me? I mean, I got a lot of stuff coming up that I'm gonna need to shed some tears for. I have a daughter who will eventually have dance recitals, start kindergarten, learn about broken hearts and have her first kiss. If that were to happen tomorrow there's a good chance I would stare off into space blankly and wonder if my chili is burning.

Okay, maybe I'm being a little hard on myself. I do have a heart.

Just the other day I was telling someone how my precious little baby boy was waking us up at all hours of the night and before I knew it tears were streaming down my face. "Oh, that is sooooo sweeeet. I know you are so happy to have him," she said.

That was not exactly what I was crying about. But she was none the wiser.