I seem to shed tears more often than the average person. I’ve been known to cry over TV commercials. So it was a given that, when Michelle Obama spoke at the Democratic convention about living as a black woman in a White House built by slaves, my eyes would fill up.
And our kids know that it doesn’t take a lot to make me cry, so they write things on birthday cards and mother’s day cards and notes that go into our Thanksgiving Day grateful jar that require me to have a tissue handy.
At our son Jeremy’s wedding fourteen years ago, Seth as his brother’s best man, made a wedding toast. He said his toast had three goals. I forget the first two, but the third was to make his mother cry.
Not a problem.