Hugs
08/09/12 05:16
I grew up in a large and loving family. There was never any doubt in my mind that I was loved. And I learned fairly early in my life that love always has room for more. The more you love, the more you are able to love. Ours was a blended family of adopted and birth children, but there were no favorites. Everyone was treated equally, honored and treasured. It was a great family in which to grow up and I see the marks of my parents in my life every day.
But we were not, in comparison to some other families, particularly physical with our expressions of love and support. I’ve known families of huggers, where everyone hugs everyone else. The people who grow up in those families will give you a hug whether or not you want one.
My great Uncle Ted was a part of our family for many years. He was in our home for all of the holidays, for Sunday dinners, and we all enjoyed having him there. He was creative and imaginative and could build anything out of used parts and things others would have thrown away. He had a great sense of humor and a ready smile. He was warm and personable and a joy. But he was not a hugger. I don’t remember ever seeing him hug anyone except for Aunt Florence and after she died, Uncle Ted was more comfortable with an occasional handshake.
Ours was not an emotionally cold or distant family, we just didn’t go in for open physical displays. My folks loved to hold hands and did so in public. But when dad would give mom a kiss, we kids usually looked away. That was between them and not for us. We got hugs from our parents when we needed them but as we grew into adolescence there were appropriate boundaries.
It was a great environment in which to grow up. People were cautious and careful about touch and we didn’t receive mixed messages.
As I grew up I encountered people whose traditions and ways were different. I remember one customer when I was a paperboy. When I’d go to collect the money for her newspaper each month, she’d give me a great big hug and usually a kiss on my forehead or cheek. She was gushy and effusive and I learned to send my brother to collect. He didn’t seem to mind. She never did anything inappropriate, but I felt uncomfortable all the same.
Somewhere in my teenage years, the closing circles at camp started to evolve into more hugs. Some years everyone hugged everyone else. There was nothing wrong with the practice, but it wasn’t my favorite thing. I sort of felt like there were people I might feel like hugging, but others for whom a handshake would be sufficient.
I’ve grown and changed a lot since those days. We stand at the entryway of our church and greet worshipers after services each week. Most people shake my hand. Some give me a hug. Sometimes hugs are exchanged when significant events occur. There is a woman in our church that I have only hugged twice: when my mother died and when her husband died. We are both comfortable with that and know that we love and care for each other deeply. I feel very close to her and know that we can count on each other.
There is another woman in our church who gives me a hug every time she sees me. I feel equally close to her and the hugs seem appropriate in the light of the genuine care that we have for each other. I remember a time when I would have avoided such a person, just like I used to send my brother to collect for my newspaper delivery. I’m pretty good at keeping my distance and standing with someone else in the way. But I have changed. I have learned to think in terms of what the other person needs and have learned to respond without feeling uncomfortable.
People are just different. They are different in the ways they grew up. They are different in how they express their emotions. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I’ve always felt that my reluctance to touch others was an asset in ministry. When I was doing a lot of youth ministry and working with teens in a variety of settings, I always felt that it was easy to establish boundaries and provide safe space for the teens. I was very judgmental of adults for whom similar boundaries weren’t as natural. We receive regular and recurrent boundary training as ministers and I have never had any problems with the training, except the general sense that the information is obvious to me and I wonder why some people need to be trained to know things that they should already know.
I have chaired a sexual misconduct investigation team for the United Church of Christ for more than a decade. Fortunately, we haven’t had to conduct too many investigations, but I have investigated cases in which the behavior was so wrong that it makes you wonder how a highly educated person could get himself into such a terrible situation. How could someone put his own desires above the best interests of a person he was called to serve? I don’t understand the behavior and I tend to be harsh in my judgment of individuals. Boundaries are obvious to me. I can’t understand how a person could cross them without huge guilt and remorse. But I’ve been around enough to know that they do. Some abusers think that they’ve done nothing wrong.
I try to use gender inclusive language in my writing, but every case in which I have had knowledge of what had happened, the abuser has been male. I have read case reviews of female abusers, but it certainly is more common with men.
If you are a hugger, or if you find yourself in need of a hug, you might have to ask if you want one from me. I’m not the one to initiate such a gesture. But I do know how to respond when someone says, “I need a hug.” It isn’t that I don’t care. It is that I care and respect at the same time. And I have learned that I need to be myself in each situation. I won’t pretend to be different form the person I am.
Like Popeye the Sailor, “I am what I am and that’s all that I am.” It works for me.
But we were not, in comparison to some other families, particularly physical with our expressions of love and support. I’ve known families of huggers, where everyone hugs everyone else. The people who grow up in those families will give you a hug whether or not you want one.
My great Uncle Ted was a part of our family for many years. He was in our home for all of the holidays, for Sunday dinners, and we all enjoyed having him there. He was creative and imaginative and could build anything out of used parts and things others would have thrown away. He had a great sense of humor and a ready smile. He was warm and personable and a joy. But he was not a hugger. I don’t remember ever seeing him hug anyone except for Aunt Florence and after she died, Uncle Ted was more comfortable with an occasional handshake.
Ours was not an emotionally cold or distant family, we just didn’t go in for open physical displays. My folks loved to hold hands and did so in public. But when dad would give mom a kiss, we kids usually looked away. That was between them and not for us. We got hugs from our parents when we needed them but as we grew into adolescence there were appropriate boundaries.
It was a great environment in which to grow up. People were cautious and careful about touch and we didn’t receive mixed messages.
As I grew up I encountered people whose traditions and ways were different. I remember one customer when I was a paperboy. When I’d go to collect the money for her newspaper each month, she’d give me a great big hug and usually a kiss on my forehead or cheek. She was gushy and effusive and I learned to send my brother to collect. He didn’t seem to mind. She never did anything inappropriate, but I felt uncomfortable all the same.
Somewhere in my teenage years, the closing circles at camp started to evolve into more hugs. Some years everyone hugged everyone else. There was nothing wrong with the practice, but it wasn’t my favorite thing. I sort of felt like there were people I might feel like hugging, but others for whom a handshake would be sufficient.
I’ve grown and changed a lot since those days. We stand at the entryway of our church and greet worshipers after services each week. Most people shake my hand. Some give me a hug. Sometimes hugs are exchanged when significant events occur. There is a woman in our church that I have only hugged twice: when my mother died and when her husband died. We are both comfortable with that and know that we love and care for each other deeply. I feel very close to her and know that we can count on each other.
There is another woman in our church who gives me a hug every time she sees me. I feel equally close to her and the hugs seem appropriate in the light of the genuine care that we have for each other. I remember a time when I would have avoided such a person, just like I used to send my brother to collect for my newspaper delivery. I’m pretty good at keeping my distance and standing with someone else in the way. But I have changed. I have learned to think in terms of what the other person needs and have learned to respond without feeling uncomfortable.
People are just different. They are different in the ways they grew up. They are different in how they express their emotions. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
I’ve always felt that my reluctance to touch others was an asset in ministry. When I was doing a lot of youth ministry and working with teens in a variety of settings, I always felt that it was easy to establish boundaries and provide safe space for the teens. I was very judgmental of adults for whom similar boundaries weren’t as natural. We receive regular and recurrent boundary training as ministers and I have never had any problems with the training, except the general sense that the information is obvious to me and I wonder why some people need to be trained to know things that they should already know.
I have chaired a sexual misconduct investigation team for the United Church of Christ for more than a decade. Fortunately, we haven’t had to conduct too many investigations, but I have investigated cases in which the behavior was so wrong that it makes you wonder how a highly educated person could get himself into such a terrible situation. How could someone put his own desires above the best interests of a person he was called to serve? I don’t understand the behavior and I tend to be harsh in my judgment of individuals. Boundaries are obvious to me. I can’t understand how a person could cross them without huge guilt and remorse. But I’ve been around enough to know that they do. Some abusers think that they’ve done nothing wrong.
I try to use gender inclusive language in my writing, but every case in which I have had knowledge of what had happened, the abuser has been male. I have read case reviews of female abusers, but it certainly is more common with men.
If you are a hugger, or if you find yourself in need of a hug, you might have to ask if you want one from me. I’m not the one to initiate such a gesture. But I do know how to respond when someone says, “I need a hug.” It isn’t that I don’t care. It is that I care and respect at the same time. And I have learned that I need to be myself in each situation. I won’t pretend to be different form the person I am.
Like Popeye the Sailor, “I am what I am and that’s all that I am.” It works for me.