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| Emily Davis ('22) |
Crybaby. That’s what I am.
Before I leave the house, I paint my bottom lashes with waterproof mascara,
because it’s hardly been a day if tears haven’t streaked my cheeks. It’s often
not life’s curses that make my eyes swell and spill over, but its blessings.
Tears are God’s way of telling me a gift is from Him; sometimes I wish He could
just send me a confirmation email. It’s not convenient to cry every time I’m
overwhelmed by joy, nostalgia, or gratitude, but my tears are defining
characteristics and a handy litmus test for determining what is meaningful in
my life and what is not.
I found myself
crying in my car when the “Welcome to Morganfield” sign came into view on my
first visit home from college. The rolling hills clothed in rows of my daddy’s
corn flooded my heart with gratitude and my mind with memories of this town—a
town so small that I’m afraid to pass vehicles on Sunday mornings because I
might soon end up sitting by the driver in the church pew. It’s small in size
and population, but Morganfield has a gravity about it that pulls images,
moments, and sensations from the back of my mind into the forefront and
prepares a feast of nostalgia with them. I smell the coffee from my favorite
mug as I hold it close, so the residual heat warms my chest through my pajamas.
I taste Nana’s spaghetti and feel the umami-tang of tomato sauce and garlic on
my tongue. I remember the way the newspaper moves with my PawPaw’s breath as he
snores in his recliner after telling me stories of relatives I’d never met, but
who he says I resemble. I hear my MawMaw telling me stories of the brave Lucy
(who, coincidentally, looks a lot like me) who befriended fairies and hunted
treasure.
I cry at the end of movies,
when conflicts are resolved and people live happily ever after. I cry when I
talk about my favorite books and how important they have been in my personal
development. I cry when I share my dreams and the creations of my imagination.
I cry when I receive good news. I cry when I sing my favorite songs with
special people. I cry when my pastor connects my life to biblical truths. I cry
when I think about the laughs of my little brothers and the eagerness with
which they greet life. I cry when something reminds me of home. I cry when I
pray thanks to God for the abundant blessings he has given me. Call me a
romantic, but not a hopeless one; I search for meaning and sentimental value in
all facets of my life and, thanks to my tears, I often find them.
Emily Davis, of Morganfield, Ky., is first-year McConnell Scholar at the University of Louisville where she plans to study sustainability, economics and political science.