WHY I'M NOT A HUGGER

Reason #1

I was born in 1952.  I weighed over eight pounds at birth.  My mother was having difficulty birthing me.  The solution at that time was to break the baby's collar-bone.  Dr. Chadwick broke my collar-bone and I entered the world. 

I assume that I was taped up and unable to be handled for the first weeks of my life.  This fact very conveniently explains everything that is wrong with me!  Including why I'm not a hugger!

Reason #2

My Dad was a long-term member (over 25 years) of the Pittsburgh Conference (Free Methodist Church) Stationing Committee.  This committee was responsible for appointing pastors to their churches.  It involved working closely with the area bishop and conference superintendents [back then Pittsburgh Conference had four superintendents]. 

This work required strict confidentiality.  Dad carried this responsibility with great seriousness - it was a burden. 

Although I never heard him break a confidentiality, certain things would leak out from time-to-time.  All-the-while, I was recording this data.  One of the things I repeatedly heard him say was, "If pastors could just learn to keep their hands off of women!"  Apparently the Stationing Committee had to deal repeatedly with charges and allegations against pastors because of inappropriate relationships.

I received my call to ministry at the age of seventeen.  Then came college, marriage, and seminary.  When I assumed responsibility for my first church, guess what rule I put into effect? 

I was so strict about this that I didn't even extend my hand when greeting women upon entering or leaving the church.  Fairly soon, this created a problem for me.  In my fourth year of ministry, a college-aged woman spoke with me privately and asked why I didn't care for her.  When I proclaimed that I did indeed care for her and her family, she explained that it didn't feel like I cared - because I never touched her! 

I've learned to moderate my touch over the years - and will occasionally offer a hug;  but my Dad's tapes continue to play in my mind - even after thirty-seven years in the ministry! 

I TAUGHT MY DAD TO HUG!

I was seventeen and a freshman in college.  That first fall I was mid-way through a General Psychology class.  We were studying a section on the family.  The text stated the importance of telling your family members that you love them. 

It hit me!  My Dad had never told me that he loved me.  Now I knew that he loved me;  my mom had told me a thousand times:  "You have a good Dad and he loves you."  She seemed to sense his inability to express affection.

In my young mind, this had to change!

I hitch-hiked the 250 miles back to New Brighton that Friday, walked into the house - past my Mom - straight to my Dad and hugged him, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered in his ear:  "I love you, Dad!"

Have you ever hugged an ironing board?

No response.

[I'm guessing that my grandfather (whom I never knew, and who had a serious problem with alcohol) never hugged my Dad and probably never told my Dad that he loved him.] 

When I left to go back to college on Sunday afternoon, I repeated the new ritual.  And did so over and over again every time I was around my father. 

After many months, he began to respond by grunting: "Uh."  After many more months his response became:  "Uh-huh."  After a year or two he began to say, "Me too."  Eventually, he began to respond to my embrace by hugging me back.  After years he was able to respond:  "I love you, too."

And when I was in my mid-forties, he told me that he loved me - unsolicited!  That was a happy day!

DADS AND AFFECTION

When I was a kid, we went to church a lot!  Every Sunday morning featured Sunday School and Morning Worship.  Then there was an evangelistic service every Sunday night.  Christian Youth Crusaders was on Tuesday night, and Prayer Meeting was on Wednesday.  Then, twice a year we would have a week-long revival with meetings every night. 

My folks were strong supporters of the church;  so, I was in church a good bit of my life. 

I had wonderful parents!  My Mom was the primary parent;  I always had the sense that she held things together.  My Dad was more quiet and far less affectionate.  I knew my Dad loved me because my Mom constantly told me that he did! 

I rarely had physical contact with my Dad.  He had been raised by an alcoholic Dad, so I think he had some deficits when it came to expressions of affection.  However, there were two times when we connected physically.

Every night, when my Mom would prepare me for bed, she would send me to kiss my father 'Good-Night'.  He would drop his newspaper and I would crawl up on his lap and kiss his cheek.  It tickled my lips because of his whiskers.

We also touched with some frequency in church.  Occasionally, I would sit between my parents.  This allowed me to raid my Dad's suit pocket for candy.  I would find prizes like root beer barrels, or those pink 'Pepto-Bismol' candies! 

Other times, I would lay with my head on my Mom's lap and play with my Dad's hand - which was draped around her shoulder.  I would stick my little fingers in between his thick, rough fingers.  Suddenly, they would close like a vice and I was caught.  Gradually, he would release me and the game would start all over again! 

When I became a Dad, I rarely had the opportunity to sit with my family in church;  I was always on the platform.  I loved Family Camp, because it gave me the privilege of sitting with my family!  Even today, I rarely get to sit with Debbie in church.  That's one of the down-sides of being a pastor! 

I'd like to encourage dads who still have children at home, and husbands who get to sit with your wives in church.  Use this time to show affection for your loved ones.  Put your arm around your wife and squeeze her.  Hold your children on your lap.  Let them hear you pray and sing.  I remember that when I would whisper an 'Amen', my kids would often mimic my words.  That's a good thing!  Make it happen!

My Dad:  Leonard Wilson Haire!  :-)