In an adult class I teach, I recently gave what some might consider an "unpardonable" assignment: homework. The task was to go to someone you love within the next week and tell them you love you. It had to be someone you had never said those words to before, or at least hadn't shared them with for a long time.
This might not sound difficult until you consider that most of the men in the class were over 35, raised in a generation that considered expressing emotions "unmacho." Showing feelings or crying was simply not done. For some, this assignment felt very threatening.
At the start of our next class, I asked if anyone wanted to share their experience. I fully expected a woman to volunteer, as was usual. But that evening, a man raised his hand.
He seemed deeply moved and somewhat shaken. As he stood up (all 6'2" of him), he began, "Dennis, I was quite angry with you last week when you gave us this assignment. I didn't feel I had anyone to say 'I love you' to, and besides, who were you to tell me to do something so personal?"
"But as I began driving home, my conscience started speaking to me. It told me I knew exactly who needed to hear those words. You see, five years ago, my father and I had a vicious disagreement and never truly resolved it. Since then, we've avoided each other except when absolutely necessary, like at Christmas or family gatherings. Even then, we hardly spoke."
"So, by the time I got home last Tuesday, I had convinced myself: I was going to tell my father I loved him."