A good cry, a good scream, a good tantrum all have their place. Just warn those around you.
I never warn anyone. My preferred screams are an ululation for joy, and a throat searing anguished screech in the car with all the windows rolled uptightly.
The latter I do less than I used to. When the kids were small it was a once every other day occurrence. I began to think I might have a career in opera. I could hold the note for a long time sitting in the garage or trill it down the incline of a freeway off-ramp.
I once told a single friend that I had thought of screaming in the car as I drove off the end of the Newport Pier. She was aghast until eight years later, she had a husband and a child of her own. She asked for a ride.
The crying part is a snap for me because I was born with my bladder behind my eyes. I can stand at the card rack in the drug store and read birthday cards, tears streaming down my cheeks. School plays dissolve all of my mascara and when a grandie smiles, “love you,” I choke, “I love you too.” I look away so I don’t worry them with my watery response.
I don’t believe I ever had a tantrum. Gladys, my mother, did not allow that. After all a tantrum is a two person event. Tantrums need an audience and no one ever paid attention to me long enough for me to get going.
I am thinking that now that my husband has lost the hearing in one ear, I could stand on that side and practice. He wouldn’t even look up and I might become quite proficient. Trouble is if I throw myself on the ground and kick my feet it’s risky at my age. I might break a hip or hurt myself badly in other ways. Then there is the problem of getting up off of the floor.
Maybe I could warn someone, after all, so they could call 911.
Today is the birthday of three of my favorite people. My lovely, patient daughter-in-law, Karen. My twin nephews, Dan and Dennis. There must be something special about people born on this day. All three are good, kind and loving. That’s the real success in life. Happy Birthday to each of you. Celebrate Life!