Sigh... Chalk me up as another male victim of Toy Story 3.
On Friday I received my latest issue of Entertainment Weekly and found a short article on men crying at Toy Story 3. I thought, "Jeez."
That night I went to my new stick fighting/edged weapon class (Paul Vunak's Progressive Fighting Systems kali) to work out and my friend (who's also the instructor) admitted he cried because it reminded him of his bear Fliff, who was lost in a move between his dad's Air Force assignments.
I took my daughter today, and I made it through most of the movie without a problem. And then I got to the end... and something about it really touched me. I could feel the lump in my throat and the tears welling. I don't need to spoil it for you, because I'm not sure what it was that got me. I think it was simply the joy of being able to lose oneself into a world of imagination that fades as adulthood creeps up. Once you begin to accept that the real world is not always nice -- that 9/11 can happen, or you can get mugged for the $5 in your wallet -- you can't go back. You can recognize it in children, and you can touch it when you're asked to be creative. But you can never get that innocence back.
I don't think I cried because I was sad about losing that innocence. I cried because it is a beautiful thing.