The other day I was
talking to a writer friend of mine and somehow we got on a discussion of how
our mothers held our hands. Neither of our mothers held our hands in a loving
way. Odd isn’t it? And even odder is that both of us are only children whose mothers
have long since died. I told her “My mother had a death grip on my hand and
would jerk it over to her if I did anything wrong.” Were any words spoken?
Absolutely none. She replied “My mother
did the very same thing!” Silence for a few moments before we resumed talking
about how our mothers held our hands. “My mother squeezed my hand so much that
it hurt” I told her. “Same here” she retorted.
This led to a
discussion of why they did that in the first place. Neither of us were bad
children that did horrid things. “I’ve often wondered that myself” said my
friend. “Tell me about it” I winced. Then I asked her how her father held her
hand. “Did he squeeze your hand like your mother? Because my dad didn’t.” I got
a reply of “No, he was gentle when he held my hand.” I completely understood
that one as well. Our fathers held our hands as if to guide us or to soothe us
and no way like out mothers. None.
Of course this led to
a further discussion about how our grandparents held our hands and again, they
didn’t squeeze our hands until they hurt. They did squeeze our hands at times
and that was a sign of love.
Holding hands with a
man you’re in love with has a completely different meaning and feeling. “You
can feel the static running through your hand to his” I told my friend. “Of
course you can” she said. I went on to say that holding a man’s hand that you
are in love with can also offer solace, comfort or a guiding feeling. She
agreed.
I told her of holding
my sons’ hands when they were little. It was a wonderful feeling to hold those
chubby little hands and know that what you held was a part of yourself. Unlike
my mother, I never squeezed their hands until the hurt but there were times
when I held onto their hands firmly. I didn’t want them to get hurt or run away
into traffic. “Did you ever jerk your child’s hand over to you?” I asked her.
“Naturally I did if there were some threatening danger near.” “I understand
completely” was my reply.
And so I will leave
you with these thoughts to ponder. If you were an only child or maybe had
siblings, did your mother squeeze the daylights out of your hand and pull you
over to her? To me it was a sign of “You’re not going to do that young lady!”
without a word spoken.
Holding hands say a
lot, without any words spoken at all, but all of us know the full meaning
regardless as to whom is holding ours. It’s learned and once learned, you never
forget it ever—the good, the bad and the ugly way your hand is held.
Sherry Hill
Copyright © 2013
Sherry Hill
All Rights Reserved
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