November 22, 2021

Love: a short four letter word that, for some, is the most meaningful word in the English language. I’m a very expressive person; if I care about you, I am sure to let you know. Phone calls end with “Love you,” greetings are met with a bear hug, and goodbyes are tearful. When I tell someone I love them, I truly mean it. My words are always imbued with a great deal of meaning, and I’m someone who recognizes the importance of telling, not just showing. As I’ve grown and matured, I’ve often struggled to grow close with those who are not as vocal as me. I have dear friends who reserve hugs for the rarest occasions, and the word love seems to have escaped their vocabulary. Over time, however, I’ve come to understand that people simply have different love languages. Mine is speech-for others, it may be small acts of kindness to let you know they care. 

Growing up, I never let my parents walk out of the door without planting a kiss on their cheeks and wrapping my arms around them as if this was the last hug they’d ever receive. As I got older, I noticed my dad and I treated our relationship in polar-opposite manners. He knew when I was ecstatic because I wouldn’t shut up about how excited I was, and he knew I was angry with him when I was adamant he understood what he’d done to upset me. But when it came to the expression of his emotions, I felt like he expected me to read his mind-at least, that’s what I believed until I realized his vessel of communication wasn’t through his words, but through his actions.

My dad and I both have extremely strong personalities. Fighting was a common occurrence in the Cooperman household. I always felt immense guilt after a screaming match - I would proceed to attach myself to my opponent like a band-aid and apologize until my voice was lost. My dad, on the other hand, would shut his mouth, get in the car, and buy me my favorite candy. I knew he was sorry when a bag of Haribo’s Twin Snakes arrived on my bed. He didn’t need to tell me he loved me in order for me to deduce it. He could surprise me at my tennis match or hang my paper on the fridge, and it all sent the message that I needed. 

So, though it’s been a struggle, I’ve grown to adore my dad’s love language. I’ve found some of my friends operate similarly. Not everyone has to say that they love you for you to know it’s true. Everyone has their own way of showing affection. For me, it's a word, and for my dad’s it's a little act of kindness just to remind me that he cares. At the end of the day, caring is caring, some people just express their love differently than others.