hand holding

Hand holding....

something I think about, often.

Not the type between lovers.

No the type between children and adults.

In my world, the seeing of the held hand of a child

makes me warm and fuzzy inside.

I always think that a child whose hand is being held

by an adult is a loved child.

This may be a misconception but in my world,

it is always what I think about when I see it.

Having been raised in such a small town that was

all white I believed that other races did not love their children

the way whites did.

I go on a limb to say this because it sounds so prejudiced.

Yet, I cannot deny the fact that it was what I thought.

I just did not know many families of other races.

That is until I moved "up the bayou" and realized

that was such a false statement.

I am even embarrassed to think I thought that

as now that I have so many friends from different races,

now I realize just how wrong I was.

Yesterday coming home from Jill-axing I passed through

the town of White Castle. A predominately black

neighborhood. Because I am a people watcher and

think long about the families of others I always

watch the happenings of the side walks in White Castle.

One reason is because the speed limit is comparable

to Golden Meadow.... 30 miles an hour.

You can notice a lot when you are crawling down the street.

Yesterday I pass two black men holding the hand of

one very cute little black boy.

One of the men had a chain wallet, oversized shirt.

The other was a little older, had his pants down past his

butt, you know the look.

Yet each of these men had the hand of the cutest little

boy.

MY first instinct was not my old mental thoughts of

how people love but that this little boy was a loved child.

I could tell they were not holding his hand because they

were afraid of him going on the road.

They were strolling, not in a hurry.

They were holding his hand because they wanted to.

He was smiling, looking up into one of the men's faces.

He was loved, I could tell that just because they were holding his hand.

Since then I have had the art of hand holding on my mind.

I am not one to hold hands with HOBL.

Ugh, not one to show that type of affection to my spouse in public.

But, my children.... Oh I was a hand holder.

The babies were old and I was still holding their hands.

It was nothing to be walking in the mall, on the beach,

to be sitting at the movies and either I or them reached out to hold hands.

Just last time we went to the beach, I remember walking with baby girl

and holding her hand.

When baby boy was young, we had this truck with little fold down seats

in the barely-there back seat and BB

would often ask me to let him sit behind me so we could hold hands.

We did that often. He behind me, myself with my hand to the back

holding his hand.

Church was another place that I held hands, scratched their

palms.

There is something about holding a child's hand that

gives them a sense of security, makes me think

that no matter what is going on in the world,

right there at that time, they know they are loved.

This of course, may be true just in my mind, but hey,

a good thought I think.

So hold a child's hand today, even

if they think they are too big, reach out and

hold their hand. Believe me very infrequently

will they pull away from this form of affection.

Happy summer to all of those that find this their last school day

let summer begin!!!!