Attempted huggers are the bane of my existence.
Every day, I must thwart the unwelcome advances of at least one girl hugger. I understand that students today are in touch with their feelings. Don't I have to listen to it in the hall every hour? Girls parting after a long walk from their lockers, entering separate classrooms, saccharine-sweetly calling, "I love you!" And answering, "Love you, too!" Please. It's too much. That's not love. That's a superficial school-building social acquaintanceship. A Facebook friendship. Have you even been to each other's houses? I thought not. They will hug if not given the stinkeye. That's against the rules, you see. Any hugging, between any combination of the sexes. The only sustained contact permitted is hand-holding. Not that I want students to hold my hand, either.
It's nice that kids want to hug me rather than smack me. But it's never gonna happen. Not even if they ask every day. "Can I give you a hug? NO! Why not? It's just a hug? Come on. A hug." The boys don't ask for hugs. Oh, one might say, "Does somebody need a hug?" But they don't require the stiff-arm brush-off. Kids don't understand the witch-hunt mentality these days. And the cameras at every threshold. And the career-ending stench that could waft from a freshly-opened can of worms.
The guys want high-fives from me. "High five? Don't leave me hangin'! High five? Low five? Five? ...four? Pound it? Fist-bump? No?" The next day, they're back at it. Hope springs eternal. "High five?"
The times, they have a-changed.