"You know how alot of kids cry to be picked up? You used to cry to be put down," she once recalled. "You would get up in a chair and rock yourself to sleep."
Through the years, my twin cousins have run up and touched me to tick me off (GRRR!!) and my admonishment "Don't be huggin' on me," is a running, loving family joke. I've also had to explain my policy to the natural huggers in my life, those who have to hug hello, good-bye, when something is funny, when they think I'm upset, because it's Tuesday. You know the type.
I've come to realize that for me, it's about controling who I let into my space. Tthat feeling flies in the face of a society that believes that boundaries are really no more than suggested guidelines.
And while I like to think I've mellowed over time - I now just go with the flow and let my favorite huggers have at it - I have a new challenge that I've chosen to meet with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.
People have now taken to touching my hair.
Within the past few months, I've had my hair touched at social events, the unemployment office, in Chicago at a conference and at a rehearsal. It's not the end of the world; all of the events happened in connection with a compliment and I REALLY appreciate that.
But consider the following exchange:
While at a wine-tasting event in March, I was really enjoying the night - great music, laid-back atmosphere, fun people, good conversation. As I approached the bar to get another glass of wine, I wasn't sure which kind to try next and was musing over what I'd liked best thus far.
As I leaned on the bar trying to get the attention of the bartender, I could feel something on the right side of head. I turned and a guy was petting my hair. He didn't even take his hand right away when I looked at him.
Me: Annd....why are you petting me like a dog?
Him: I had to. I couldn't help it. I love your hair.
Me: Thanks. But petting me? Really?
I didn't make a scene. He was a pretty cool dude and I was still pretty new at dealing with that kind of intrusion. I also didn't make a big deal out of it when the employee at the unemployment office asked "Can I touch your hair?". While her hand was in my hair. I didn't dig that. At all.
Three-foot rule, lady. Three-foot rule.
I've been working on handling these invasions tactfully. Not always with a lot of success.
For example, last week, I took my frustration out on a really nice guy who didn't mean mean to offend me at all. I'd just leaned in for a pic on his phone during rehearsal, and next thing I knew, I again felt something in my hair.
Me: Did I give you permission to touch my hair?
Him: No, but I love it. It's great.
Me: Thanks, but you were petting me like a dog. No, dude. You didn't even ask.
Him: Can I touch your hair?
Me: (joking) Hell no!
I think at the end of that exchange, he either thought I was a bit uptight, or a bit wack-a-doodle. Either way, I felt bad.
So, I'll continue working on being gracious in these situations. Baby steps.
Strangely, the people I wouldn't mind letting touch my hair never ask. Which, I guess, why I would mind. :) I also think half of the touchers are still fascinated by natural hair - the texture, the look, the behavior of the stuff. Still other think I'm wearing a wig or some weave or whatever. Just meddling.
Someone at rehearsal who overheard our exchange offered, "It's like walking up to a pregnant woman and putting your hand on her stomach."
Exactly.
If you want to touch ask. And if I (or that random pregnant woman) say no, be cool about it.
In the meantime, I'll still get a kick outta incidents like this:
After realizing I'd left my USB cord at home, I stopped and hurriedly searched for a replacement in a shop at the O'Hare Airport in Chicago:
Woman: WOAH! (all caps doesn't exaggerate. She was pretty loud.) I LOVE your HAIR!
Me: (with a smile) Thanks.
After finding my grossly overpriced item, I stood at the counter with the clerk, waiting to be checked out.
Woman (on her way out): Love it! WHOO!
The clerk and I looked at each other and laughed.
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