By Jim Hagarty
2016
I was in a convenience store yesterday, buying a chocolate bar, and before I left, the woman behind the counter said, “You have a good day, hon.”
Hon?
Unless I am mistaken, that is a short version of the word “Honey” which is a traditional term of endearment in our culture. In this instance, the woman and I did not know each other and yet, she called me, “Hon.”
Maybe no surprise here as I am easily impressed, but for a younger woman to call a 65-year-old man “Hon” made me feel really good.
There used to be a woman in one of the drivethroughs I frequent on my coffee runs who always called me, “Sweetheart.” I am fully aware that she called everyone who drove by her window “Sweetheart” but that understanding did not diminish by even one tiny bit the good feeling that being called “Sweetheart” always gave me. I missed her when she moved on to maybe better things.
I am going out on a limb here to make the wild guess that this woman came to my central province of Ontario from Canada’s most easterly province of Newfoundland which is an island and the last province to join our federation in 1949. There are many former Newfoundlanders who have moved to my small city in Ontario and some of the ones I have met do not spare the terms of endearment, even with strangers.
When my wife and I spent a couple of weeks in Newfoundland in the ’90s, we were blown away by the friendliness of the people there and that is when I first noticed that women, especially, had no trouble calling men they had never met “love” or “honey” or “sweetheart” or “dear”. Or “sweetheart” shortened to “sweetie.” From the men you might get “pal” or “buddy”.
Another young woman at a drivethrough, often addresses me as “friend” even though we are only drivethrough acquaintances. She is a very jolly soul, always smiling, and it is nice to be referred to as her friend even though I’m pretty sure we are not friends.
I am a very reserved guy but I do like to throw out a compliment or two now and then if I think they are deserved. If someone in a shop has been a big help to me whether or not I buy anything, I will let them know that. And if workmen come to the house and I am pleased with the job they do, I will phone their boss to let them know how impressed I am.
But terms of endearment, I’m afraid, are reserved for my doggie.
On the other hand, I can be pretty free with terms of extreme peevement from time to time when the situation seems to warrant it. Last year, for example, after a very unpleasant encounter, I called a stranger the “biggest asshole I have ever met” to his face. Not a high point in my relationships with others, I admit, but I still think it was justified.
However, karma got me good a short time later when a fiend of a neighbour called me the very same thing. I didn’t think I deserved that, of course, and to make him even madder, I asked him if I could use what he had said as a character reference on a resume I was preparing. He blew his top, predictably.
I think there is a reason that humans are easily impressed by simple terms of endearment from strangers. It goes to our very basic desire to be loved.
That need, acquired at birth, also underpins most cases of performance anxiety, often known as stage fright. What if the strangers in the seats in front of us do not approve of what we are delivering for their benefit? That answer is simple. They will withhold their love.
And there are few humans, whether nine or ninety, who can abide that. Our separation anxiety, given to us at birth when the cord is cut, follows us all the rest of our days. It is amazing the lengths we will go to keep that fear of abandonment under control. And it’s why, it is so nice to hear someone call us their “sweetheart” even if we really aren’t.
Our needs are basic. We all need food, water, shelter …
And love.
