Losing our Senses

Five senses. So primitive, so visceral, so informative, so comforting. We tend to take them for granted. They say when you lose one sense, the others take up the slack. But there's really no substitute for any of them. 

My dog's senses are on high alert as he explores our new neighborhood. The sounds -- the ding of the elevator, the rumble of the train, the footfalls in the hallway that are inaudible to me. The sights -- so many dogs, so many people. The tastes (I tremble to think about those), and the touch -- of friendly passersby, and the ever changing terrain of gravel and wood chips and concrete and the occasional surprising expanse of grass, still sparse and brown from winter. He is most informed by the smells; snout to the ground, he sniffs his way forward, committing all the newness to memory. 

Years ago, my then husband told me that the men in his family don't hug. The context: we had traveled to Michigan to say our final goodbyes to my dying father-in-law, and his son, my husband, had offered up a handshake. Our son, a teenager at the time, a "man" in that very same family, had taken a different approach, bending down to hug his grandfather. His sisters followed, as did I. In my world, we hug, gender notwithstanding.  

This story is not, by the way, a referendum on my marriage, certainly not an excuse to rehash my ex-husband's flaws. Or mine, for that matter. I was, after all, the shrew who berated him about the callousness of the handshake, when his father was dying. I like to think he has learned to hug since then, and I like to think I have learned when to just let it go. Getting older has its perks. 

I fear that we are teaching our children bad lessons these days. That touch is not just dispensable, but downright bad. That's not the worst of it though; we are teaching our daughters to be victims, and we are teaching our sons to be afraid. 

Bright lines are elusive, but we have surely stepped over some. Yes there are times when a handshake makes more sense than a hug or a kiss or a squeeze. Is it really okay, though, for a woman to wait years to announce she was uncomfortable? Does the level of discomfort suddenly become enhanced when the complaint can do some serious damage? Is a woman who is strong and accomplished enough to run for office really incapable of turning around, in the moment, and telling the guy that something is not okay? 

There are real issues out there -- with rape and sexual assault and abuse of power -- but they are being clouded and undermined. What we are teaching, it seems, is not only victimization and fear, but vindictiveness. That is not okay. 

Yesterday, a friend came to visit, and my dog -- all 65 pounds of him -- hopped onto her lap to deliver some unwanted licks. She told him no and gently pushed him away. Dogs, even old ones, are teachable.