Im the person who cries at the drop of a hat, whos always

In the tender and overflowing words of Kim Wayans, we are given a window into the soul of one who values love above all else: “I’m the person who cries at the drop of a hat, who’s always reminding everybody to be kind, who’s bringing 40 people together for Thanksgiving and Christmas.” Here is no boast of power, no cry of conquest, but rather a revelation of the strength that flows from compassion, vulnerability, and the sacred work of gathering. It is a declaration that the heart, when fully alive, can be both fragile and mighty.

The first part of her saying, “I’m the person who cries at the drop of a hat,” tells us of the gift of sensitivity. In ancient times, many mistook tears for weakness, yet the wise have always known that tears are rivers of truth. To weep easily is to feel deeply; to feel deeply is to remain human in a world that hardens men and women into stone. Such a soul perceives both the sorrow and beauty of life, and in weeping, honors them both. To cry, then, is not to falter—it is to remain awake in a slumbering age.

The second part, “always reminding everybody to be kind,” lifts her tears into action. For what good is emotion unless it blossoms into virtue? In reminding others to be kind, she becomes a living echo of the sages who urged mercy over cruelty, generosity over selfishness. Kindness is the unseen glue of society, the thread that binds family, neighbors, and strangers together. It is easy to forget kindness when pride rises, when wealth blinds, when wounds fester. But the voice that reminds, gently and persistently, keeps the flame of humanity from being extinguished.

Her final image, “bringing 40 people together for Thanksgiving and Christmas,” reveals her role as a weaver of community. Such gatherings are no small feat; to gather many under one roof requires patience, labor, and above all, a heart that yearns for unity. In the ancient days, the matriarch or patriarch of a clan would summon the tribe to feast, not merely to eat but to remember who they were and to whom they belonged. So too does Kim Wayans, in her modern age, embody this sacred calling: to keep the bonds of kin and friendship unbroken, to remind each soul that they are not alone.

Consider, for a moment, the story of Sojourner Truth, the woman who, though once enslaved, became a voice of freedom and faith. She wept for the oppressed, she spoke kindness even when surrounded by hatred, and she drew communities together in gatherings that gave courage to the weak and strength to the weary. Though her work was far more perilous than hosting feasts, the spirit was the same: to bind hearts with compassion, to hold fast to humanity, and to create spaces where love overcame division.

The teaching for us is clear: greatness is not only in conquest or invention but in the quiet heroism of the heart. To cry is not shame but a testament of spirit. To remind others to be kind is not weakness but the guardianship of the soul. To gather many around the table is not mere hospitality but an act of holy remembrance. These are the pillars upon which true community rests, and without them, nations crumble into loneliness and despair.

Practical actions arise like light breaking through the clouds. Do not despise your tears; let them teach you what your heart treasures. Speak kindness often, even when it seems unnoticed, for your words may be the spark that turns another from cruelty. And whenever you can, gather your people—whether many or few—into spaces of warmth, remembrance, and joy. For in doing so, you weave threads of love that no hardship can sever.

Thus, in the voice of Kim Wayans, we hear an ancient call disguised in modern words: to live as one whose heart is open, whose voice uplifts, and whose arms encircle multitudes. Let this wisdom pass to future generations: that the true measure of a person is not how much they conquer, but how much they connect, comfort, and keep alive the eternal fire of togetherness.