Sociopath in 336?

Lately I have been spending my lunch break at Barnes and Noble. This is partly to discourage me from spending money on lunch(I recently realized that 95% of my bank statement charges are food related), but also so I can discreetly read the new Chelsea Handler book without actually buying it. Last week I stumbled across a disturbing read in the clearance section. (Wow, I am sounding REALLY cheap.) It was called "The Sociopath Next Door" and basically gives you a list of red flags/warning signs that may indicate creepy, sociopathic tendencies in your neighbors. I happen to be a regular viewer of the Lifetime channel, so of course this intrigued me. I flipped it open and read:

“Sociopaths rarely show emotion or cry. If so, it often happens at odd, inappropriate times”.

This worries me. That description is a dead ringer for my own personal “cry habits”. I tend to rarely cry, and if I do, it happens at odd, inappropriate times. If for some reason my dear neighbor both stumbles upon the book and sees me during a deep/inspirational church meeting, she is really going to worry. And all I want her worrying about are my visiting teaching habits, as is her ward calling. Or maybe a repeat performance of the incident where I accidentally stumbled into her apartment instead of my own in the middle of the night. (No, I assure you this wasn’t alcohol induced. Just a common mixture of sleep deprivation and ADHD.)

So now to address the issue at hand: a few examples of emotional displays and the lack therof.

When I was about 10 or 11, I occasionally babysat the kids of a neighborhood family. I was a solid 3 on the babysitter preference list. If Jennifer and Robyn were both busy, Carolyn got the "last resort" call. I didn't care; I liked babysitting for this particular family because they had both Beethoven movies, a Nintendo 64 and name brand Pop Tarts. None of the Western Family “Toast’em Pop Ups” my mom insisted were just as good. Wrong, Mom. They tasted like cardboard and without the credible “Pop Tart” logo stamped on the foil package, they were utterly useless for trading purposes at the lunch table. That particular night, I was just babysitting the family’s little boy. His name was Wesley, but continuously insisted he was Batman, and more often than not wore the pajamas to prove it. Exhausted after a particularly vigorous night of crime fighting, Wesley had fallen dead asleep on the floor, leaving me to watch "Mulan" by myself. About 20 minutes into the movie, during the climax of a typical poignant and inspiring Disney song, Mulan climbs up onto this tall post with only the aid of some sort of Asian weapon. It isn't particularly inspiring nor tear inducing. However, for some reason, without warning, I burst into tears. I was just really... moved, I guess. It was so odd. I wasn't especially passionate about women's liberation, nor Asian warfare so I still can't figure out why this scene made me so emotional. But the tears just wouldn't stop. So there I was sobbing, bathed in tears and Pop Tart crumbs, in front of a Disney movie. Of course, this is when the dad decided to get home. Confused, he asked if everything was okay. All I did was look down, ashamed, and nod shyly. After an awkward moment, and no further questions asked, thus ensued the awkward 3 minute drive home. That, believe it or not, wasn’t the last time I babysat for them. It was the second to last. My final visit ended with the mom coming home to me enthusiastically supporting her seven-year-old’s idea to pierce her own ears with a toothpick. Hey, it would have been interesting!

I also had an "oddly timed emotional episode" once in my 9th grade math class. I had recently lost a dear family member. My parakeet Sammy. We weren't really "pet-people" growing up, so this bird was a huge deal. I am pretty certain I would have saved it from that hypothetical burning building before any of my human family members, except maybe Joel who was still a baby and almost as cute as Sammy. Sammy and I had been through a lot together. A night spent in the orchard, a surprise sex-change (Sammy, not me), and the ONE proud moment when after much coaching, he/she actually said "Pretty Boy". (No wonder that thing had gender confusion issues). Anyway, Sammy's life abruptly ended with bird seed vomit and an unexplained seizure. Both of which, I thought were terribly cute. But sad. Sad enough that a month after this, the mourning process was still in full force. We opened up our Algebra II books to a story problem about two students, probably named Nan and Hank or something, attempting to breed finches. It was the full-color photo that did it. Looking at those sweet little feathered heads, those smiley beaks, all lined up on that twig was too much for me. I had to excuse myself to the hall until I could gain my composure. The tears just wouldn't stop. I think I had about three false alarms where I attempted to enter the classroom again, only to catch a glimpse of those taunting birds and had to go outside again. This behavior would be considered acceptable, if not normal, for a 2nd grader. Unfortunately I was almost 15.

I won't go into detail about the countless testimony meetings/DTRs/chick flicks I have tried to force tears during. See, despite the above odd situations, I am not really a crier at all. "Pretend Mom died... pretend Dad died... Sammy really did die... were (and still are) repeated in my head during times when crying really is encouraged/socially smiled upon. Crying can really come in handy. It's a really convenient way to appear caring/pathetic/spiritually in-tune, depending on the situation. After failing to cry during one particular Girls Camp devotional, I knew I could kiss my dreams of Mia Maid President goodbye. Not to mention the time I tried to break up with a boyfriend because "I was scared and not ready for anything". (Yeah right. Boys, never believe that one.) I'm pretty sure those words would have been more convincing accompanied by tears. Instead, they came across dull and insincere, and somehow I ended up dating him for another month. Hopefully those that know me know that I really do have feelings and my lack of tears in some events isn't a sign of apathy (or sociopathic tendencies). But I should probably invest in a wallet sized bird photo to have on hand. Or maybe a Mulan keychain. Just in case.