Actions speak loud as words, when it comes to love ~ February 27, 1986

David Heiller

I saw two men approaching on the street.  As they came together, a dawn of joy and recognition blazed in each face. They kissed cheeks, shook hands firmly, lingeringly, and barraged each other in loud voices: “How are you? Fine, thank you, and you? By the grace of God, I am well. How is your family? By God’s grace, all is well with me and mine. And you, is everything well? Everything is fine thank you, God’s grace is shining fully.”

A street scene in the city where David lived for two years.

This continued, in Arabic of course, for a full half minute. I smiled in childish wonder, thinking I was witnessing the momentous rejoining of two brothers separated at birth and discovering each other on this dusty Moroccan street. My disillusionment soon followed. The men, after the last “May God be with you,” abruptly pulled apart like clashing symbols and continued on their separate ways, as if nothing extraordinary had occurred. Indeed, nothing extraordinary had occurred. Just two casual Moroccan friends hailing each other in their passionate fashion.

I wrote the above passage in my journal on December 8, 1977, in Sidi Kacem, Morocco. It tells in a nutshell how Moroccans showed affection. Kisses, handshakes, loud inquiries into your health, your mother’s health, your second cousin’s (twice removed) health. Their affection was downright aggressive.

We Americans, on the other hand, seemed meek and mild in comparison. The stoic Scandinavian and German stock that came from the Old Country has never been known for outward signs of affection. I had a hard enough time kissing American girls, let alone Moroccan men on their cheeks. A handshake was the best I could muster in Morocco. No doubt I seemed as lifeless to them when I greeted someone as they seemed overly-animated to me.

Winter affection

Affection is a relative thing. Ethnic groups stake out acceptable ways to show their love. I hugged and kissed more people in France when I was there for a week, coming home from Morocco than my entire life before or since. By the time I had left, I remember thinking all that hugging and kissing wasn’t so bad. But when I got to America, to my friends and family, the hugs and kisses were okay once, and once only. Then it was back to handshakes, at best.

But real affection—love, if you will—it seems to me comes not through gestures, or even words, but through actions. It doesn’t matter if you call your spouses Baby-Cakes, or your kid Log Legs. It’s how you treat them that counts. Who volunteers to wash the dirty dishes after supper, when both Mom and Dad have had busy days? Who makes the supper? Who brings the bowl of ice cream to the guy on the couch watching TV? Who sweeps the floor and shakes the rugs?

You do and I do, both. A simple illustration: A month ago, on a very cold morning, I felt a beckoning to the outhouse. My wife, Cindy, had an equally urgent calling. We left the kids in the house, and tromped down the hill, me in the lead, and making sure I stayed in the lead. We have a two-seater, you see, but only one Styrofoam toilet seat. The other seat is wood, and when the temperature outside is 20 below, like that morning, the wooden toilet seat is 20 below.

Outhouse on a more clement day.

I can’t explain what I did or why I did it, but I took the styrofoam toilet seat off its nail on the wall, and handed it to Cindy. Not even Merlin Olsen could top that act of love.

Forget about flowers, let’s get down to real love. Who wrings out the poopy diapers? Who gets up early with the kids so the other can sleep in those extra 20 heavenly minutes? Who gets up for the teething baby four times in the night? Who takes the kids to hockey practice four times a weekend? Who swallows hard and lets the son have the car to take his friends to a movie? Who stops to help fix the flat tire on the lonely county road, when no one else is stopping? Who calls a sick friend, or sends a card to a death-stricken family.

The answer, I hope, is you and me. Words and handshakes and hugs and kisses are fine, but no more important than the little actions that give of your time to tell someone else, “I love you.”