I always thought I was pretty prepared for anything that could happen at kindergarten pick-up. Lost backpacks, shoes on the wrong feet, maybe even a meltdown over snack time. But I was absolutely not prepared for what I walked into last Thursday.
Usually, I just peek through the window, catch my son, Lyle, giggling with his friends, and wait for him to spot me. But that day, I heard this wild burst of laughter and saw a group of kids crowded by the door. When I walked in, I froze—Lyle and three of his friends were locked in the biggest group hug I’ve ever seen, heads squished together, arms tangled up like they’d known each other forever.
The thing that hit me hardest? They all looked so different—different backgrounds, different stories, and none of it mattered. You could see it in their faces. No cliques, no awkwardness, just this genuine, messy affection. One kid whispered something and they all started giggling even harder, and then I noticed a couple other kids waiting in line to join the hug, like it was totally normal.
I couldn’t help but smile at the sight, but something in my chest tightened, and for the first time, I felt like an outsider to something so pure, something I hadn’t been able to fully experience since childhood. My son, Lyle, looked up and caught my eye, his face lighting up the way it always did when he saw me, but his smile faded a bit when he noticed my hesitation.
“Mom, look!” he shouted, running toward me with his arms open. “We’re playing hug circle!” His voice was filled with such excitement, such innocence, that it made my heart ache.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, crouching down to meet him halfway. I gave him a tight hug, feeling the warmth of his little body against mine. But I couldn’t shake the strange feeling in my chest. I looked at the other children, all laughing and playing, so wrapped up in their world of pure connection that they didn’t even notice me standing there.
I glanced around, hoping to see something that would explain my discomfort. It was the hug. It was so… genuine. So open. And I hadn’t realized how much I missed that kind of freedom in my own life. As adults, we become so guarded, so careful with our emotions, afraid of rejection or misunderstanding. And yet, here were these kids—kids who hadn’t yet been taught to second-guess their feelings or hide their affection.
One of the teachers, Mrs. Davis, noticed me standing by the door and waved. I smiled back, walking toward her.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” she asked, her voice full of warmth. “They’ve been like this all afternoon. Lyle started the hug circle, and it just kind of… spread from there.”
I nodded, trying to mask the knot forming in my stomach. “It’s great. They’re so… comfortable with each other.”
Mrs. Davis smiled softly, her eyes twinkling as she glanced over at the kids. “That’s the magic of childhood. They don’t care about labels, backgrounds, or differences. They see someone to play with, and they just… play. No questions asked.”
I watched Lyle for a moment longer as he ran back into the hug circle, his laughter ringing out as the other kids cheered him on. There was a part of me that felt so proud of him. He was a kind, open child who truly believed in the goodness of the world. But another part of me couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. How long would it last? How long until the world taught him to put up walls, to stop hugging without hesitation, to judge based on differences instead of simply embracing the joy of another human being?
I’d been so caught up in making sure he fit in, making sure he followed the right rules and made the right friends. But now, seeing this group of kids so effortlessly united, I wondered if I had missed something important along the way.
That evening, as we sat down for dinner, I brought up the hug circle to Lyle. He was happily eating his mac and cheese, his eyes wide with excitement as he recalled the events of the day.
“Mom, it was so much fun! Everyone was laughing, and it was like… we were all best friends!” His words were so pure, so full of life, that I almost couldn’t bear it. He wasn’t concerned with who was popular or what others thought of him. It was just joy.
I smiled, even though my heart felt heavy. “That sounds amazing, sweetheart. But tell me—why do you think you all wanted to hug each other like that?”
Lyle paused, thinking for a moment before answering. “Because we’re friends, Mom. We like each other. It makes us happy.”
His simplicity made me pause, my heart aching with both joy and regret. Here was my child, living in a world where the only thing that mattered was the happiness of his friends. It was enough.
But it wasn’t enough for me.
I thought back to the years I’d spent building walls around myself. The years of fearing vulnerability, of protecting myself from the hurt that always seemed to come when I opened up too much. Somewhere along the line, I had forgotten what it felt like to embrace others so openly. I had let life harden me, made me forget that there’s beauty in letting someone see the real you. In letting someone in, even if it means they could hurt you later.
As the night wore on, I found myself thinking more about that hug circle and what it meant for me. I had become so consumed with adult responsibilities, with making sure everything was perfect, that I had lost sight of the simple joys that come from just being with people. My son had already mastered something that I had forgotten.
The next day, when I dropped Lyle off at kindergarten, I watched him run toward his friends with a smile on his face. I watched him hug one of the other kids goodbye, and for the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to feel something other than worry. It was a small act, a simple hug, but it was so full of unspoken joy.
That afternoon, when I picked him up, I did something I hadn’t done in years—I joined in.
When I walked into the classroom, I saw Lyle in the middle of a hug circle with his friends. Without a second thought, I knelt down beside them and held my arms open. At first, there was a slight pause—a beat of confusion—but then, Lyle’s little arms wrapped around me, and I felt the others follow suit. Before I knew it, I was enveloped in a group hug, just like they had been earlier.
In that moment, I felt something shift inside me. A release. A letting go. For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to be vulnerable. I allowed myself to feel the warmth of human connection, not out of obligation, but out of pure, unfiltered joy.
I stayed a little longer after that, watching the children as they played and laughed, and I noticed something beautiful. Every time they ran into each other, every time they joined together in a game or a hug, they didn’t question it. They just were. They didn’t need permission. They didn’t need to overthink it. They just gave.
It was a lesson I wasn’t expecting. I had walked in there thinking I had something to teach my son about the world, about who to trust and who to stay away from. But instead, he had just taught me about what it truly meant to live freely.
I left that day with a lighter heart, a quiet promise to myself that I would stop overthinking, stop protecting myself so fiercely. I would let love and connection flow more easily into my life. And as I did, I realized that the most important thing I could do for Lyle was to show him that same lesson—not through words, but through actions.
As for the hug circle? Well, I’m happy to report that it became a regular event. And every time I joined in, I felt like I was healing a little more.
So, if you ever feel too old to hug, too guarded to open up, or too afraid to show affection—remember this: Sometimes, the most beautiful thing you can do is to give without fear, to embrace without hesitation, and to live fully in the moment.
Please share this with anyone who needs a reminder to let go of their walls and let love in. You never know, your hug could make someone’s day a little brighter.
