Dear Son,
I want to tell you something the world rarely says out loud — especially to men:
You’re going to cry. A lot.
And the older you get, the more often it’ll happen.
Not because you’re weak.
Not because you’re broken.
But because you finally stopped pretending nothing matters.
When I was younger, I believed the lie that said, “Real men don’t cry.”
So I shoved everything down.
Pain, shame, fear, love — all of it.
I numbed out. I ran. I hardened.
Because I thought that’s what strength looked like.
It wasn’t.
Strength is what I found later —
in sobriety, in silence, in the tears I used to choke back.
Tears that finally said, “That mattered.”
Tears that said, “You survived that.”
Tears that said, “You’re still here.”
Now?
I cry over memories.
Over all the dogs that I’ve lost.
Over songs I used to skip because they made me feel too much.
Over regrets I don’t speak of often.
And sometimes — just from feeling alive when I didn’t think I’d get to be this old.
So don’t believe the macho liars.
The chest-thumpers.
The guys who act like they’ve got it all together while silently falling apart.
You were born with a heart — not armor.
Use it.
If I had a son, I’d want him to hear this…
There’s no shame in tears.
Let them come.
They mean you’re awake.
They mean something mattered.
They mean you’re finally living the way you were always meant to.
📌 This letter was written by Fred Ferguson (GeezerWise). If it spoke to you, I’d love to hear back—just hit reply.
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—Fred [GeezerWise]