This past summer, I was a counselor at a sleep-away summer camp. As part of the training for the job, the counselors have alternating classroom sessions and "in-field scenarios" to prepare us for anything that could happen during the camp experience; from talking to our campers about problems they might have at home or with other campers, to if there is a missing camper and we need to form search parties. (It was in a picturesque Maine retreat center adjacent to a lake, so a very beautiful environment but lots of potential hazards.) Anyways, the people who gave us instruction on all of these possible situations were the camp director and co-director, business partners and best friends. These guys embody the epitome of manliness: physically fit, moral, great fathers, strong leaders, patient teachers, know how to do everything from repair a tractor engine to top-belaying in rock climbing to driving the speed boat in the perfect way so that tubers are sent flying 6 feet into the air off of a wave. They led all of the more intensive instruction in the field and the touchy classroom subjects. One of the classroom sections, and arguably the one that most people were uncomfortable sitting through, was the explanation of how sexual abuse and other external threats to the campers would be handled. Of course, the talk was not addressed to anybody in particular, but had to be said for the sake of insurance and, you know, training stuff. For one part during this classroom segment, the director addressed what would need to happen if the camp experienced a live-shooter situation. He walked us through, calmly yet sternly, how our first action would be to avoid the shooter and evacuate the area if possible; if that was not possible, to hide the kids and yourself in a safe area. The co-director took over here, and said and finally, if nothing else was left, to fight back. It was when he said this that his voice audibly broke, and face contorted. He stepped away for a moment to regroup himself, and the camp director couldn't help himself either. Here in front of the entire rest of the staff, the two strongest men I know cried. It was brief, but it happened. I realized then just how much these campers meant to these men, that they would shed tears just entertaining the thought of these precious kids experiencing fear or harm. It was the only time I have teared up since SPOILER Mufasa died. tl;dr I cry about words and animations.