A half-hearted apology to my son on the occasion of his 20th birthday

Today was Scott's twentieth birthday.  He now gets to spend a year neither legal adult nor teenager, being an age he and other college students have told me is not the best because everyone considers you an adult but you don't have the legal rights of adults.  I think they have a point. 

To celebrate, we took Scott and some of his friends to dinner at the place of Scott's choice, The Pit.  The food was yummy, and we all had a good time.

Afterward, I probably embarrassed him by asking for (and getting from him) a hug right there in the restaurant.  I hugged him with both arms, kissed him on the cheek, and told him I loved him--as I try to do every time I see him. 

I'm writing this to apologize, but only in a half-hearted way. 

I probably embarrassed Scott tonight, and I know I've embarrassed him in other ways on many past occasions, and I am sorry when I do that. I am sorry, Scott, if I did it tonight.

The thing is, though, that I'm not at all sorry for hugging him.  I grew up without a father in a family that was terrible at touching.  When Mom would hug me, I'd turn stiff as a board, unsure what to do.  I never had a hug from a father. 

When we had kids, I swore that though I was sure I'd screw up many things, I would not screw up in this same way.  I would take every chance I got to hug my kids, kiss them, and tell them how very much I loved them.  I never want Scott or Sarah to wonder for an instant how much I love them; I want them to know that no fiercer love has ever existed in this or any other universe. 

So, Scott, I'm sorry I embarrassed you, but I'm going to keep doing it.  You'll just have to deal with it. 

I'm going to hug you and kiss your cheek and tell you I love you often and for as long as I am alive.