My friend, Guthrie “Guy” Ramsey, calls me Hugsy. He says that every picture he sees me in, I’m hugged up with someone. And, he’s right for the most part. I love people. My family and friends mean the world to me. And hugging them is my way–skin-to-skin–of saying, I’m here for and with you. I think too much “touch” happens in harmful ways: at the end of a fist or a gun.
I want to be a part of that group of lovers who provide healing touch. Hugs are just the start. But they are, I believe a really good start.
I don’t know how I became such a “hugger.” I don’t remember being hugged that much growing up. I felt loved–deeply, but our family wasn’t touchy-feely. But as a parent and as a friend and lover, I am so the opposite. I hugged and kissed my boys and their friends so much, I irritated them.
My hands communicate much better than any words I say, “I love you; I care about you; I want you to be well.”
I gladly embrace Guy’s nickname for me. I am Hugsy. And I love it.
I am testifying against being touch-starved. I want those I love to know that love feels good, and warm and whole. So, I say “thank you” with a hug, and “I believe in you” with a hug, and “you’re somebody special” with a hug.
I often say (and I really mean), Love is my calling card. Hugsy. Yeah. That’s me.