I Love Me Too

"Well, I love you," she said trying to console me.

"I know," I replied, "I love me too."

And we busted out laughing.

But the truth of the matter is that ... I do.

I mean there are some things I don't especially like about myself I guess ... I should drop a few pounds, get back into running every single day, spend more time taking Goddess on long meandering walks ... stuff like that. But I love me far more than I like me.

This is not a narcissistic confession.

I love other people completely too and give of myself graciously to them.

"Do you call everybody Baby?" Laurel asked me not too long ago.

We were in a restaurant and I'd called the waitress Baby. Her sisters stopped whatever they were doing and stared at me waiting for my response.

"I think so," I said. "Well not everybody ... but a lot of people."

They looked at Sarah exclaiming all at once, "He calls everybody Babe"!

It was completely foreign to them. Their formative years were in western New York. Mine was the coast of South Georgia, where the River meets the Sea. Savannah is far more cosmopolitan than most southern cities and I'm convinced it is because ships from around the world have always been coming and going since the place was born. We've always had everything thrown at us and we've always been pretty accepting about it all. While other cities bombed themselves during the Civil Rights Movement, in Savannah we mostly had cocktail parties and drank our way through it (Sure there were a few days when we strayed away from this approach but, for the most part it's true!). There was no real violence here and when black people occupied the beach one day, the whites mostly watched, shrugging their shoulders saying, "That's cool. Let's get a beer."

The point is, I'm pretty free with my affections. I don't suppress much and I certainly don't bottle things up. I have two sleeves and use them both to wear it well. If I love someone, I let them know. I take strangers at face value, accepting them and the starting point is usually me calling them Babe, Baby, Dear, or Luv.

I grew up in a family of huggers. Well ... not Dad so much, but the rest of us. Mom was forever grabbing us in the middle of whatever David, Angi and I were doing and giving us hugs. She'd tell us how great we are. We hugged so much it's amazing we got anything else done. Dad got screwed up in the war when it came to showing affection (a wounded Prisoner of War rarely makes complete recoveries) so whenever he let his emotions show ... he cried.

I inherited both traits.

I'm quick to hug.

I'm quick to cry.

It's the way I was raised.

I don't take much for granted anymore. I'm more laid back than I've ever been and that's saying something given that I've always had the ability to perfectly balance laid back with incredible intensity. I can still muster intensity when I need to, but I like laid back more.

And I like saying Babe.

Sure it can get you sued these days ... make you lose your job ... make lawyers happy and wealthy ... make Sarah mad at me ... and stop three little precious girls in the middle of a meal bringing them to a dead halt when I do it.

But you know what?

I believe in love.

Love is all you need.

Might as well say it.