But there is a transformation that happens in us men long before parenthood that puts us psychologically at odds with the embrace. For when we were small boys, we clinched our parents out of instinct. We clamored to our mothers and fathers because we felt inclined to seek out their comfort; A scary dream, a bad bike wreck, a fight with a sibling. And a father's hug is even more powerful. Not only does it offer solace, but there is a strength to it that allows for a sense of protection, as if whatever caused us to look for him will now be prevented from happening ever again. As we grow and mature, though, our fears and pains are still prevalent, but we try to hide these self-perceived "weaknesses" and we stop seeking out the soothing and protective arm wraps, especially from our fathers. Young men, especially teenagers, are trying so desperately to convince our dads that we are independent males, that we mask our suffering and try to fool the adults in our lives that we can handle this alone.
There are three hugs that I remember receiving from my elders that are more prominent in my memories more than any other:
The first is any and all embraces from my grandfather, Ralph, on my mom's side. Now matter how cool you try to be, he will track you down and give you the hardest, longest, and most loving hug that you've ever known. And when he eventually breaks away, he leans back, grabs both your shoulders, and gives the warmest and most genuine smile in the world. Pure love. After my wife first met him, she looked at me and said, "Man, that guy can hug!"
The second was from my neighbor in Mexico. Señora Rivera was an Eighty-something that lived in the row house directly next to mine. After I first moved in, she took a particular interest in me and my immersion into the local culture. She helped me build my vocabulary, assisted me in navigating through a foreign grocery store (which, I've found is more important than knowing how to ask for the restroom. People in any language know when you need to use the restroom. There is, however, no known "Froot Loop Dance"), and she even taught me some amazing authentic recipes (to which, I believe my wife is eternally grateful). When it was time for me to move away, she looked at me proudly and was a little choked up. I wanted to show her that her lessons were not wasted, so I decided to use some Spanish. I tried to dig from my memory the word for "hug," but couldn't remember it exactly. I remembered her telling me that a lot of Spanish word sound a lot like English in root form. So, I conjugated quickly a verb in my head that sounded like "embrace." I extended my arms and loudly proclaimed, "Embarazarme!" Horrified, she took a step back and looked at me cautiously. And then, after a second, she started laughing hysterically. "No, no, no! ABRAZARME!" Apparently, I, in very poor Spanish, had asked her to "impregnate me."
The third hug I remember most was the day I left for the Army. My mom and dad waited with me in the morning for my recruiter to come to pick me up. My dad and I were always close, but not "hugging close." And after my bag was loaded up, I stepped up for the tearful goodbyes. My mom was a typical mother; crying and smiling and squeezing. And then my dad stepped in. It was the biggest, strongest hug I could remember him ever giving. It was a "dad hug." The kind of hug that lingers with you. Since then, embraces have become regular and expected.
I had never understood the desire of hugs myself. It was a violation of my personal space. It was touching and intimate and it was odd. When I offered a hug to someone, it was taken eagerly, because the recipient knew that I didn't often give them willingly. Hugs were, for all intents and purposes, awkward and uncomfortable.
But then, I became a father.
There is a moment for all fathers that we feel that first hug from an infant. And it is beautifully new with each individual child that enters our life. Their head cradled on your shoulder, your cheek nuzzling the top of their head, one arm supporting their weight and the other tapping soothingly on their back. And then you feel it. The tiny little fingers grab on to your shirt and pull you in a little tighter. They may not even realize they are doing it. But they are...and you know it. It's at that moment that you realize what your role is...Comforter, protector, provider, fixer....
And it becomes an addictive drug that you want more of. But unlike any illicit substance, you never build up a tolerance. Each one is just as powerful as the last. Unfortunately, though, they will eventually get to point when they stop seeking you out for comfort. They avoid the contact in public. You find yourself acting like Pookie in "New Jack City," shaking and twitching and exclaiming, "It be calling me, man! I just got to go to it!"
But, someday, they will need you...A broken heart, a frightening accident, a fall from grace...And when they do, all you can do is reach out and squeeze.
Until then, you may have to do what I do: Hunt them down and bear-hold them like Lenny from "Of Mice and Men" and wait for the kicking and screaming to stop as they realize you won't let them down until they squeeze back...Hey, a hug is a hug!
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