What are you clinging to?
One day, when I was a little boy, I was standing in my parent’s bedroom. My mother, sitting on the edge of her bed..
“Man, I want to talk to you about something.”
I stood between her legs while looking up to her, as she looked down.
“Man, your father and I were talking..”
“You’re getting older now and it’s time we stop kissing on the lips.”
I’m not sure I knew what a heart was, but I was instantly heartbroken.
Sadness overwhelmed me.
Why?! Why!? Why?! Please!? Please?! Please!?
One last time?
I begged as if mom had never kissed me, as if I she’d never kiss me again.
I whined. I moaned. I complained.
I was angry and pouting.
Man, you’re getting older now, and it’s time I stop loving you.
That’s what I heard. That’s what I felt.
I thought it was the stupidest idea ever.
Why was dad hating?
When I noticed my words were not changing anything, I reached up for a kiss.
My mother tried to offer some solace by introducing me to kisses on the cheek, but that wasn’t good enough for me.
I leaped on my tippy toes, wrapped my little arms around her neck, pulled her down and stretched up for a kiss.
And then I thought maybe I could trick her.
“Ok mom, fine, a kiss on the cheek.”
My feet on top of her feet as I went in to kiss her on the cheek, but just before landing, I grabbed her face, one hand on each of her cheeks trying to move her face forward ~ my kinda kiss.
I was clingy. I was a momma’s boy. Everyone knew it.
Including my father.
But I wasn’t the first, nor will I be the last.
By nature, younger children are often clingy.
Which now makes me wonder, what exactly are they clinging to?
Or maybe, what do they believe they are clinging to?
A few years later my mother gave me my first lesson on giving and generosity, a lesson I still cling to today.
And now..
As I cling to generosity, generosity clings to me.
As I cling to love, love clings to me.
And as I cling to kindness, hope, and faith, ~ kindness, hope, and faith cling to me.
I guess I was right all along.
It was more than a kiss.
