Sam is Puerto Rican. So everyone who comes into our house gets hugged either as they arrive or leave. It doesn't matter who they are, they still get a hug: my friends, colleagues, dinner guests--that's what happens. Sam feels that people don't touch enough and could stand to be much closer.
When we were first married I was eager to invite my colleagues over for a meal. They were either stuff-shirt types, who were probably used to eating at the best eateries, or redneck types, who viewed our furniture and paintings on the walls with awe. We happily milled around, eating a wonderful meal and chatting into the night. When it was time to say goodbye, Sam sprung into action. As the first man reached for his hand to shake, Sam pulled him into a back-slapping embrace. The man stood rigidly, arms dangling at his sides. No matter, Sam whopped him on the back and then reached for his wife. She got the hug and back patting too, only she seemed delighted. By the second couple, people seemed to be prepared for it and all was well for the most part. Foolishly, I was mortified and was concerned that my colleagues wouldn't think my husband was very refined, thus think less of me.
I opted not to comment on my wounded ego, but tried to intercept Sam next time we had company. This time, it was the deacon and his wife from church. Bernard was a crusty older man who probably had never hugged his own father. Diane, his wife, was surprised, but hugged Sam back when he reached for her. Bernard hung back, and then jutted his hand out toward Sam. I thought Bernard will pass out if Sam hugs him, but it didn't matter. Sam had already pulled him into a back-slapping embrace. Bernard stood stock still, as straight as a ramrod, his lips pulled taut in a thin line. There was no leaning into Sam or back slapping on his part. In a word, he was flabbergasted. I smiled wanly and saw them out.
No, I can't change Sam. I didn't marry him to change him. I have to learn how to live with someone who can make my friends and colleagues think negatively about me. I made this choice to marry Sam and now I need to adjust accordingly. So think all forty-something first-married women when it dawns on them that they are somewhat defined by the one they marry. I should be grateful that I even got married, and that the man I found is half-way normal. Especially when one sees who is out there for the taking! So I prayed for grace and kept on loving my husband. What a martyr.
About a week after my colleagues had come over for dinner, one of them stopped by my office to see me.
"How's Sam?" he asked.
"He's doing fine," I replied, bracing myself for a comment about the behavior that had left us both chagrinned.
"He's a wonderful man, Sam. So warm." His eyes misted. "You don't find that everyday."
I shook my head, mutely.
"You landed a great guy."
"Thank you. I think so."
That Saturday when we saw Bernard, he leaned into Sam, whopped him on the back and laughed nervously. Ever after, he sought Sam out for conversation. He and Diane became some of our dearest friends. Never did a visit go by without a hug, and Bernard initiated most of them.
I'd like to think I've learned a thing or two in life. Maybe grown up a bit.
People don't get touched enough. Many walk around with a bad case of skin hunger. There is something very attractive about people who live large and unapologetically. Their hearts show through. They are not bound up with notions of being appropriate. They are tuned into life. And I am all the richer for Sam and his hugs.
