Touching Me, Touching You

The typical American upbringing does not involve much touching between friends. Not my generation. Some families may be a little more touchy-feely, but Americans by and large like their personal space. We hug each other on special occasions. Sometimes upon hello and goodbye. When we give or receive gifts. In everyday life? In our daily hanging out on the couch or walking down the street, we don't touch each other. There is no kissing on the cheek or any other "invasion" of personal space.

My Korean students used to laugh at me and my discomfort at people in my space. In the generation in which they were raised, best friends hold hands. They walk holding hands, curl up next to each other when doing homework or having a snack. Once, a pair of my Korean girls flanked me, grabbed my hands, entwined their arms around mine and walked me to class. I laughed at their forwardness, they good-naturedly laughed at my discomfort.

My Korean students cracked open the door. Several of my Swedish colleagues kicked it off the hinges.

While Swedes tend to be a bit stoic, a few of my teaching coworkers were definite children of the 60s and 70s. Artsy fartsy, as some would say. We'd be at a crowded party. With all of us jammed onto a crappy little sofa our legs, arms and hips would touch while sitting on a couch. (Gasp!) Something emotional would happen at work, and my colleague would lean her head on my shoulder.

Initially, I was kind of creeped out. It was hard not to flinch and take a step back to add that comfortable buffer. What the hell was up with these people? I thought I was in the land of the Icy Norsemen? I must have been in some strange microcosm. The more my friends included me in these gestures of friendship, the faster my barriers came down. It felt comfortable. Like I belonged. The power of human touch is amazing. Dropping that emotional guard and letting someone touch you is freeing. Until a friendship or cultural experience comes along such as this, you are not so acutely aware of the lack of touch in our lives. That absence of touch.

Today was my first day back dropping the kids off at school. Outside LittleBird's classroom, I turned and was embraced by one of the moms I have gotten to know fairly well. It was a full body contact hug. She held me tightly, asking how I was hanging in there. When we parted, she continued to hold my hands. I have quite a few years distance from my time in Sweden and my days teaching Asian students. I could feel my heart in my throat. That familiar stress of needing to yank my hands away. I haven't been touched by a friend in a really long time. In those few short breaths where she wouldn't let me go, I struggled. I could feel how much I missed having a friend I could literally lean on. I could feel how much I have reverted to my old American-style ways.

We are getting our kids together for a playdate tomorrow. I doubt there will be much hugging or hand-holding going on. We'll make some iced tea, and I'll fill her in on the sordid details of the past week. I'll probably cry a little. I'm glad I've been reminded of my past progress trusting certain people with my personal space. I miss it, and whether or not this friendship develops that kind of trust I am glad of the reminder.