We don’t hit.

My 21-month old grandson punched me in the face last night. It was not an accident – he was extremely angry with me. I was being unreasonable; I wouldn’t let him pull a thirty-pound picture down from the wall onto his head. He wanted to undertake this course of action very much and his frustration over my refusal was expressed by violence. In return, he was placed on the floor and admonished, yet again, “We don’t hit. We like gentle hands.”...

I looked at people.

I looked at people today, in all kinds of locations. This is not something I normally do. It goes beyond no eye contact which I also find difficult and low-grade loathe. I push making and maintaining eye contact with friends because I recognize that avoiding it causes unconscious messages to be sent. But even with people I know well, I struggle. Strangers? Often, I don’t bother at all...