My young daughter wasn’t yet 1 years old the first time she shook her head and stretched her hands out to push away a hug from relatives. Everyone laughed it off, assuming she would grow out of it.
What they didn’t realize was that, even at that age, I was teaching her that she always has a choice — something I didn’t have growing up.
Every family gathering began the same way when I was a kid. I would open my grandparents’ front door, and the smell of tamales, turkey, rice, and the best of our Mexican-American world would welcome me at the doorstep. I loved the laughs, food, and family, but before I could settle in, I had to brace myself for the greeting ritual.
With my shoulders tight and my steps tiptoeing along the living room, I scanned the faces of new visitors who had made a pit stop at our feast. A polite smile and a wave were considered rude, but it felt strange to show affection to people I had never met.
If I weren’t eager to make my rounds, I would get a nudge on my back with an emphatic, urgent command from all the adults in unison: “¡Saluda!” That made the next step clear: hug and kiss every adult in the room as a gesture of respect.
As each year passed, my resistance became less about hugging people I didn’t know and more about realizing my boundaries didn’t matter. I want to teach my daughter differently.
The social reset that paved the way for new norms
In 2020, I became a first-time mom. As if postpartum chaos and sleepless nights weren’t enough, the pandemic hit and left us with isolation and an unexpected reset. I was relentless about not exposing her to risk as an infant, but she still babbled and smiled on FaceTime with my family. Their connection grew despite the limitations and distance.
After being apart for so long, we were all excited about our first gathering. I walked through the door, holding my daughter, and the kitchen was lined with my white-haired elders; their faces lit up as we entered. The day they could pinch her cheeks and smother her with kisses had finally arrived.
Arms reached out, smiles widened, and baby coo sounds filled the air. My daughter took one look around, gripped my hair in one hand, my collar in the other, and let out a startled wail.
There was an immediate and collective sigh of disappointment. The matriarchs and patriarchs of my family had never been challenged by a 1 year old. They stepped closer, hoping that proximity would encourage her to leap into their arms. She cried louder.
Their arms dropped, their smiles turned to frowns, and the bribery ensued: “I got you a pretty doll, and I’m going to be so sad if you don’t give me a hug.” Another aunt leaned closer and said, “Don’t you love me? I really love you!”
While I knew those statements came from a place of love and care, I looked my daughter in the eyes and said, “It’s OK, you can stay with me.” She released the grip on my hair and shirt, rested her head on my shoulder, and let out a sigh of relief.
I looked at my aunts and uncles, feeling both nervous and empowered. I reassured them that she would warm up to them on her own time and in her own way.
I took a chance and created a teaching moment
I started a conversation with my family that we never had before, and explained that what was considered disrespectful in their generation is now considered self-respect in mine.
The family gatherings continued. Sometimes my daughter would run to the door to greet them and hang on their neck with glee; other times, she would run by them, shouting “hi!” and go straight to the couch.
As the years have passed, their expectations have shifted, and their disappointment is no longer in the air. Comments have gone from “Are you going to let your daughter get away with not giving me a hug and kiss?” to “Okay, I’ll be here when she wants to play.”
Respect and love can now take on different forms. That’s a tradition worth passing down.
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