If You’re Apart From Your Children, Give Them Palm Kisses for Everyday, Especially Valentine’s Day

I once believed that I invented Palm Kisses one early morning in the late 1980s when my daughter was in need. I now doubt that the idea is original with me, especially after reading and buying a copy of The Kissing Hand by Audrey Penn and illustrated by Ruth E. Harper and Nancy M. Leak (Washington, D.C.: Child Welfare League of America, 1993). No matter who first imagined them, Palm Kisses are a wonderful gift to give your child when she or he must spend hours away from you.

Take, for example, the first day of school. New beginnings were always hard for my daughter, and we did what we could to overcome. We toured the building where she would be, met the people who would be in charge, and practiced “What if?”

• My daughter: What if I get lost?
• Me: Well, then, you’ll ask a teacher for help.
• My daughter: What if I can’t make it to my locker and then to class before the bell?
• Me: Well, then, you’ll take the tardy and we’ll try to figure out how to help you succeed.
• My daughter: What if I don’t like the new school?
• Me: Well, then, we’ll talk about it for as long as you need.
• My daughter: What if no one likes me?
• Me: You’re very likeable.

But when she was younger, pre-school age, actions spoke louder than words. No number of ready answers would calm her shaking hands and quaking knees. Somehow I had to bridge the distance between our home and that pre-school. Somehow I needed to empower her to make a start in a strange place because each of us will make many new starts as we move, age, marry, begin another phase in our career, and lose loved ones. Though I hated the separation as much as she seemed to, I knew that she needed to be able to part from me.

So I bent low to look directly into her eyes, and I picked up one hand, cupping the palm of her hand in mine. I kissed her tiny palm, then wrapped her hand in mine, closing both as I said, I am with you. Just squeeze your hand closed to know that my love goes where you go.

She thought about the idea while opening and closing her hand. Then she held out her hand, palm up, and asked for more, Mommy. I kissed and kissed her little hand, wondering how many would be enough. She dropped that hand and replaced it with her other one. Give me kisses for the other hand, too, and I did.

For several years thereafter, I filled her palm with kisses when she asked for them, and once, when I had an appointment that I dreaded, she offered kisses for my palm. I squeezed my hands into fists several times that day, each time feeling reassured that someone was thinking of me, someone was in my corner, someone loved me. That is, after all, what gives us courage in dark, uncertain times: the knowledge that we are loveable and loved. What more does anyone need?