I can get really wrapped up in my own world. My brain never shuts up. It's always talking about something...debating, discussing, encouraging, chastising me. Never more so than when I am completing routine tasks.
I walk my boys to school everyday. On the way there, we chatter together, and my brain focuses on what my babies have to say. On the way back, my mind shifts gears from conversation mode to internal chatter. Making a chore checklist. Thinking about things people have said to me and what I said to them or what I should have said to them. Considering different types of exercise machines. Thinking about the picturesque quality of the mountains in the distance framed by palm trees closer up. Wondering if I should have put on real pants instead of taking the boys in pink snowflake PJ bottoms.
Talk, talk, talk. Me, me, me.
And so it goes, through the courtyard, past the gate, over the gravel, past the sidewalk, across the street, around the trash bins, down the wet, sloping grass, back onto the sidewalk, across the street, between the Hibiscus bushes, right to my door.
I had gone through the courtyard this morning and reached the gate when I paused. A small class of children, with various disabilities, both mental and physical, were crowding through the gate with their teachers. I waited for them to pass through as my mind continued its contemplation of things shallow and self-centered.
He looked right at me. He had big brown eyes and a crown of dark curly hair. He stopped and looked at me. Only for a moment. Then he reached out his arms...the way an infant reaches out to be picked up and held. He didn't make a sound, but his eyes connected with mine and he reached out for me.
His teacher started to say something...to somehow divert the awkward moment. Only it didn't seem awkward at all to me. I didn't even have to think about it. I moved into that little boy's embrace and I hugged him gently. I tried to mentally impart some feeling of love and acceptance in that hug.
It was fleeting, and the child will probably not think about it again. If I were to guess, the reaching out is probably a common behavior for him...just something he does. To him it was probably more habit than an action with an underlying meaning. I won't be so arrogant or so bold as to suggest that I made some sort of impact on him. He had probably forgotten our impromptu hug by the time he made it through the gate...lost in the busy world of childhood.
It made an impact on me, though. As our world has become more and more sensitive to tiny little words and behaviors that might be hurtful and offensive to others, we have lost something. We have lost our ability and desire to touch and be touched. We live our lives in an invisible force field that must be respected. We are afraid and awkward when we brush hands with a stranger, or sometimes even a friend.
There's a connection that comes from touch. A deep warmth that comes from an embrace. It's so blissfully human to touch another in a gentle and caring way.
We need more hugs.