Put 'er Where?

Stability creeps into my life. Perhaps things are getting simpler. I always thought that as I got older greeting a person would be easy. Like the Native Americans with their ubiquitous forearm shake, I figured a simple, single, firm grasp, the traditional man's handshake, would, in my culture, be all I needed to know.

When I was a kid there was a little more to it. You had the conventional shake but you also had its cooler counterpart. Its origin in the black community, unfortunately gave it a disparaging nickname. Be that as it may, it was a bit more complicated. It had three parts.

Beginning with a handhold like the one used for arm wrestling, it flowed into a normal handshake and finally to all forefingers hooked together. It was my shake of choice and I extended it to many friends over the years. But you always know which shake to give your friends. When the recipient is unfamiliar to you, having two handshakes to choose from can make for an iffy, split-second decision. If the two shakers aren't in accordance, the resulting clench can be very clumsy.

It was two handshakes that caused my predicament but the creativity of the late twentieth century has greatly impacted today's gesture options for greetings. With the many innovations, I cannot imagine the consternation today's young man deals with. Walking through campus last week, I witnessed a typical scenario unfolding between two young men. Recognizing one another from across a courtyard, they sauntered to meet. The guy with the cap, left arm swaying from his shoulder, brought his right hand up loosely in a cocked fist. The guy with headphones around his neck raised a relaxed, open hand.

"Hey, brutha."

"What's up, dude?"

In a moment, it was over. There was a futile attempt to save it, but tactile reciprocation would not be achieved. The open hand changed to a fist just as the fisted hand opened. Then instinctively back again. No unity, no connection. They carried on with their chat but even for these young guys, I thought, it's hard to keep up with all the variations.

Maybe it all started back in the eighties with Top Gun's high five. Or perhaps it was Maguire and Canseco with their forearm bash. Or was it that ghastly demonstration of immodesty, the end zone dance? Whatever their source, most of the currently fashionable gesticulations, involve no shaking whatsoever. Now the standard is bumping fists, sliding palms, cooperative snapping, tickling fingertips, or any combination of these.

What's a brother to do?

A steadfast greeting is very important in our culture. It can cultivate a solid connection, establishing an initial understanding between two people. Or like an ill-informed member at the Mason's Lodge, an unwieldy greeting can leave a lasting and unfavorable impression. Fortunately, most of the hands I shake these days belong to those who don't bother with clever alternatives. I see the hand approach and I know what to expect, a regular man's shake. But, even then it is not always a smooth transaction.

A typical man's handshake is supposed to be sturdy and convincing. Of course, a more considerate shake is expected with the elderly or the infirm but sometimes, when shaking a healthy hand, mine is met by what is called "the fish". So named because what is offered has the vitality of a dead trout.

It is unheard of for the limp hand to acquiesce, so to achieve conciliation when one gets the fish, it is the firm hand that must yield. With such modifications, a handshake might seemingly end well, but unfortunately the erroneous beginning left it never fully established. To prevent this awkwardness, a responsible shaker makes a mental note to take a little off next time.

The fish is the antithesis of the problem that I have when shaking a woman's hand. In this case, I'm accustomed to a more benign hold, the woman offering only the first two-thirds of her hand keeping the heel of her palm free from the shake. Today, with the feminist movement crossing norms at a breakneck speed, that custom is going the way of offering seats, opening doors, picking up the check and other respects to the gentler sex. At the risk of sounding chauvinistic, I cannot get used to a woman gripping my hand like we just finished a business deal. I wonder if I should slap her on the back or sock her in the shoulder.

The handshake is an institution of our western culture. As a tradition, it is as good as a written contract. It is a fond farewell to a friend. A condolence paid to a loved one. It's meaningful. It's contact. It's one of those things that separate us from animals. And in this way we need to remember to honor its tradition because after all it beats sniffing one another.

I guess if there's something to learn from shaking hands it's that people are different and I doubt this is ever going to change no matter how old I get. While the world remains a complicated place, maturity is providing me with some wisdom to handle it better. It is up to me to make things simpler. They don't get that way on their own. So the next time someone greets me, I'm going to take matters into my own hands and simply diffuse my predicament by kindly asking, "Put 'er where?"