Hugs

Hugs are not something I give or take often. My husband can hug me anytime. He knows how to do it without hurting me. I have fibromyalgia and hugs are agony for me if not done correctly. So why am I writing about hugs?

The other day, I was looking at ALL the pictures I have of my mom and dad from their early courtship to the time near my mother's death. In every picture I have of the two of them together, they are either holding hands or my dad's arm is around my mother, protective of her. She was his Rose -- and he treated her as a precious flower. But I don't recall that he hugged her very often. I know my father didn't hug me very often. Which is NOT a problem, okay, so don't start thinking I'm dissing on my father for not hugging me.

Back to hugs (did you catch the yell in the last sentence?). Dad's hugs were loose and rare. He would wrap his arms around you and give you to very light pats on the back, then he'd back off.

Mom was more of a good hugger. I think that's because the Italians were so open with their hugs and kisses. You could always count on your Italian family hugging and kissing you with gusto at the beginning and the end of a visit.

With my father and his family it was entirely different. I don't recall even cousin Alberta sharing a hug with me. I think it was the German, austere thing in which he grew up. I have to say that dad never initiated a hug. If I were to get a hug from him, it was because I went to him first.

It's getting close to Valentines Day, and I was making cards and it occurred to me that I should write about hugs.