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The Cricket Story

Fears

Now, the only problem I've ever had with hugging is because I'm afraid I'm vertically challenged, well OK, I'm short. Not even measuring up to 5'3." Well think about it. My hair might get mussed up, and my husband will tell you that majorly annoys me. I might feel a little smothered, or it may be hazardous to someone else because they may get my lipstick on them. And I worry a little about that. Oh well...excuses, excuses. Excuse me, but please don't knock it until you've given it a good healthy try. Look what the English did.

Britain's Green Party, concerned that traditional hugging would break down class distinctions and promote sexual harassment, instituted 'politically correct hugging' policies. (See story in the Hug Thoughts section titled Politically Correct Hug that appeared in The McPherson Sentinel, March 9, 1995.

Are we so worried about what others think that we rob ourselves of the blessings of traditional hugging? Well, yes. What will be next? No more football huddles, the players might be gay! Give me a break, a hug break. Who cares, let's let go of pride.

Please don't misunderstand. I'm not saying we should pay no attention to whom it is that we want to hug. Boundaries should not be violated. The level of intimacy that we have with a prospective huggee needs evaluation. Is the person merely an acquaintance, a friendly relation or an intimate friend? The type of hug that is appropriate to give changes with the degree of intimacy we share with the recipient. The pure intent of the hug removes awkwardness and embarrassment.

Have families schedules become so diverse that there isn't time for this traditional, innocent intimacy? And yet, for some families, this may not be the problem. I fear the hesitancy associated with the hug has been passed down through generations.

As a child, I don't remember being hugged much. I wondered why anyone would ever want to hug me or love me or marry me. Was it this lack of affection that magnified my traditional teenage paranoia about bad breath, BO and a thousand other what if's that kept me from reaching out to my peers?

Talking to someone one-on-one, not to mention extending my arm for a handshake, made me tremble like an army of newly hatched crickets were bursting out of their skins inside me. Besides, they might ask me for my opinion about something and I was afraid if I thought they didn't agree with me I would feel inferior. They would think I was stupid. They must be right and I must be wrong-that's another story for another day.

I often told people more recently that I would rather speak in front of a whole room full of people than struggle and fret and worry about trying to find something to say to a person one-on-one. (I got over it when I was afraid to go door-to-door as an Avon lady. My manager went with me the first time and told me that people loved the Avon lady and much to my surprise, she was right and they did.) Any way, let's go back to fifth grade for a moment.

Mrs. Betts, my fifth grade teacher at Eugene Field Elementary School in San Diego, California, gave me my first public speaking job as the announcer for the United Nation's Day program in front of the whole school (except little parts in Christmas programs at church). I remember being scared to death. I hugged onto the program and gasped into the microphone but managed to get through it. That teacher gave me the hug I needed to get started. She also inspired me to begin writing. Several of us who excelled in reading, or so I was told, got to write a "book" at the end of the year instead. Mine was titled, The Story of Marcia Jones. It was supposed to be placed in the school library. My original copy was never returned and years later my attempt to locate my carefully written 81 pages on wide-lined legal size good school paper were fruitless. I could use a hug right here.

Then there was the campaign speech I made for myself when I ran for secretary of the 9th grade class at Smedley Junior High School in Santa Ana, California. My step dad helped me write the speech because I couldn't think of anything clever. (Now I don't lack for words even if sometimes my readers or hearers don't always get my corny attempts at humor. Oh well....) I stood there, holding a can of hair spray to spray away there fears (about what I don't remember) and as I did, I nervously hit the microphone and it made a terrible noise. How embarrassing and no, I didn't have a prayer of winning that election. But look at me now. See what a little inspiration and a few hugs have done to bring me out of my shell. (Well, the drama and speech classes helped a little too.)

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