What I Wish More Men Knew
The peroxide that soaked into my wounds wasn’t the only thing that made me cry when I was growing up. I cried when shampoo got into my eyes. I cried at the dinner table when it was meatloaf night again. (Sorry, Mom.) I cried at the grocery store when my parents caught me trying to sneak a Snickers bar onto the checkout counter. I cried when I wasn’t invited to birthday parties. And then—I stopped crying. Crying was something that I simply lost the ability to do. Crying was if