Susie FowlerWatt:

Susie tells us what make her cry and why

Norfolk - - INSIDE -

On tears and kind­nesses

My daugh­ter laughs at me for many rea­sons, but these are two of the most com­mon: when­ever she asks me about any­thing un­usual hap­pen­ing to her body or mind, I al­ways an­swer “it’s just your hor­mones!” And the sec­ond cause for hi­lar­ity (and eye rolling) is that I cry at any­thing. That, of course, is prob­a­bly just my hor­mones.

The other day I drove down our lane and saw that a whole wood was be­ing de­mol­ished. The tall, grace­ful poplar trees, which had struck us as so beau­ti­ful when we first came to view our house 17 years ago, were now logs on the ground. I wept. Lola, on the other hand, sent a text to the com­pany do­ing the work, ask­ing why they were de­stroy­ing her neighbourh­ood. I feel we may have an ac­tivist in the mak­ing.

I al­ways cry watch­ing the Mamma Mia film, but the se­quel left me sur­pris­ingly un­moved – un­til the end when the mother, who’s died, ap­pears in a vi­sion to daugh­ter. I lit­er­ally sobbed and was pan­ick­ing about how I was go­ing to get out of the cin­ema with any dig­nity, given my snotty nose and sod­den shirt.

I cry at all the usual things: courage, in­jus­tice, the pain and suf­fer­ing of chil­dren/par­ents, the mis­treat­ment of an­i­mals. But what also gets me all lachry­mose is kind­ness. Specif­i­cally, the kind­ness of strangers. Take the news­pa­per ar­ti­cle about a woman who read a poem of hope to some­one she heard weep­ing in the neigh­bour­ing lava­tory cu­bi­cle: def­i­nitely some­thing in my eye again…

I have writ­ten be­fore about kind­ness, but I feel it’s im­por­tant to keep bang­ing the drum for it. We cur­rently live in a world where those who shout the loud­est seem to win, where pol­i­tics is played like a poker game, where truth ap­pears to be mal­leable and where what you have achieved on pa­per is val­ued more than what kind of per­son you are.

But noth­ing mat­ters more than what kind of per­son you are.

It is what I tell my daugh­ter ev­ery day. And even if she rolls her eyes at me again, as is her teenage pre­rog­a­tive, this time she doesn’t laugh.

ABOVE: Lots of things make Susie cry, she says Getty Im­ages/ iS­tock­photo

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