My husband has never really been a “holding hands in public” person.  I was surprised by this discovery very early in our marriage, mainly because his family is a hugging, demonstrative group and he has always been okay with:

1) The arm around my shoulder (or mine around his) in church or other location, such as a restaurant;

2) Asking me to scratch his back or rub his shoulders briefly in public if he gets an itch or has a sore muscle; or,

3) Giving hugs to me, or the girls, his mother or other family members.

All these constitutionals are okay.  But, he thinks the act of holding hands is just weird.  What if you want to pause and pick up something? What if you’re not synchronized in your pace or stride? Holding hands gives you less freedom, in his opinion, and it’s just really not for him.

This lack of holding hands, however, is made up for one-hundred fold by a tradition that began while attending Oklahoma State University (OSU) football games together:  the ritual of giving each other a kiss every time the Cowboys score.

Extra points count too.

If you happen to be listening to the game on the radio, then the touchdown sequence would sound something like this as Dave Hunziker our announcer calls the play: Continue reading Twenty Kisses →