As an old guy, I still love to hold the hand of the woman I love.
However, I had a tough start.
Mary Watson was special in seventh grade. She could twirl a baton better than most of the high school girls. When I was lucky, I’d see Mary walking home after band practice, and I’d walk alongside. My plan was to reach down and hold her hand for the final block to Doctor Watson’s residence.
I’d practiced for this moment. I’d used my own hands to see if a finger interlocking grip was preferred over a simple palm on palm technique. I practiced the line, “Hey, let’s hold hands just for the fun of it.” How stupid is that? Experienced, confident hand holders would just go for it.
My time came. Mary’s baton was in her off hand. Maybe Mary was giving me the green light. Right in front of her door, I finally grabbed for her free hand. Startled, Mary pivoted. Her baton hit me square in the nose. Blood trickled from my right nostril. Dr. Watson opened the front door. A light beamed out. I made a run for it before Dr. Watson could offer me medical assistance.
Things have gotten better. Sherry and I hold hands a lot.
Sherry likes the palm on palm technique. I’m good with that.