Mr. Biden, I like you. You mean well. You’re a warm guy. The Biden Method of Spreading Cheer through Sleight of Hand seems like it’s worked pretty well for you. But the times, they are a-changin’. You came of age in an America where, (for instance) powerful men were virtually expected to be unfaithful to their wives. Everyone knew, no one talked about it. So touching? Ehh, no big deal! But your famous handsiness is grounded in a belief you need to reexamine: “Everybody will like it, because I’m, well, Joe Biden.” Some renegade part of me wants to say, “I feel you.” A more woke part of me (“Eww, Helen, really?”) wants to shake the daylights out of you.
Also from Pennsylvania, I grew up in a family where affection was viewed with suspicion, like sugary cereal. Unnecessary. Vulgar, perhaps. I sometimes joke that my mother and I greeted each other with a “Gothic arch kiss.” Our feet firmly planted on the floor, keeping as much space as possible between our respective chests, we’d crane forward over the chasm and peck each other softly on the mouth. “Hello,” she’d always say. “It’s nice to see you.” I always tried not to wipe her wet from my lips, but I’m not entirely sure she would have noticed.
So hugging isn’t really in my social repetoir, and what I most hate is mandatory hugging. I’ve delayed walking into extended family gatherings until my husband and kids have…
