I grew up in a family that was pretty much devoid of physical demonstrations of affection. I certainly felt that my folks loved me, but there was no hugging. I don’t recall ever seeing my parents kiss or touch each other. My dad would occasionally physically tease my mother. For example, I can remember one incident at the dinner table when he was playfully and gently laying a hand on my mother’s arm just as she was raising her fork to her mouth. After about three of these gentle holds, she lifted her water glass and tossed its contents in his face. This was the full extent of physicality in our family.
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It wasn’t just my parents. I can’t remember aunts or uncles or cousins ever hugging us when we met. Grandmothers of course would request a hug. I never knew either of my grandfathers, but I suspect they would not have been the hugging kind.
I never felt I was missing out on anything, because in the generally WASPish atmosphere of the community in which I grew up I saw very few public displays of affection. But somewhere over time, hugging crept into the American repertoire of expression. This incursion may have been a ripple effect from the flower power, free love hippiedom of the ‘60s and ‘70s. Or it may have been a symptom of globalization as Americans became more familiar with other cultures in which physical expression was more common.
Whatever the reason for the more widespread adoption of hugging in our social vocabulary with my somewhat physically impoverished upbringing, it took me longer than most folks to comfortably include it in my greeting options. Although I may have come to the dance late, I have fully adopted hugging as a way to greet people with whom I have more than a passing acquaintance.
In fact, the ability to comfortably hug former coworkers, old friends I haven’t seen in years, and parents with whom I had shared a particularly troublesome child is what I miss most about the restrictions that have come with the COVID-19 pandemic. Now when I meet folks in the grocery store with whom I share a special affection that magnetic spark still leaps between our eyes, just visible over our face masks, but mentally and physically we take a step back and say to ourselves that this hug shouldn’t happen and it isn’t going to happen. And that makes me sad.
Dr. William G. Wilkoff
One of the great perks of practicing pediatrics in a small town and then remaining there in retirement is that nearly every week I encounter one or two people with whom I have a long and sometimes emotionally charged relationship. Nurses with whom I sweated over difficult delivery room resuscitations. Parents for whom their anxiety was getting in the way of their ability to parent. Parents and caregivers of complex multiply disabled children who are now adults. Peers who have lost a spouse or a child.
I can envision a day sometime in the relatively near future that I will be able to hug my two grandchildren whom I haven’t hugged even though they live a short 10-minute walk away. But I have trouble imagining when I will again be able to enjoy and be enriched by those special grocery store hugs that I have grown to savor.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.