Teaching My Father How To Long-Hug

My dad and I seem to pull closer and closer together as I get older.

He taught me how to build a pinewood derby car, tell time on an analogue clock, and how to drive a stick-shift on a deserted street in The Loaf. He helped Jedi II with his first space derby plane and is our senior consultant for The Dangerous Book For Boys.

I finally got to teach him something the other day: how to long-hug.

Now, don't get me wrong: he knew how to quick-hug right from the start and has honed his skills on the rest of my family for years ("Good game quick-hug!," Thanks for the gift quick-hug!, Congratulations quick-hug!, etc.)

But it never felt right.

Over the holiday I went over to his house and we sat down to look at a scrapbook my mom created for him of black and white photos from his childhood: sitting next to his panting dog, riding on his two-seater tricycle, standing next to his sister on vacation, the cowboy boots and six-shooter taking aim at the Brownie camera.

During our discussion we got to talking about how special it was for him to rub Jackson's head in the hospital nursery right after he was born because his mind was finally at ease (and he had a lot of practice with us growing up). He could relax and savor the moment of his first grandchild being born.

I got right up and taught him how to long-hug: the right hand over the shoulder, the left arm under his armpit, a soft double-pat of my open hand, then a squeeze.

I'm looking forward to our next long-hug moment.