In Honour of the Humble Handshake
In the grand scheme of things, our current inability to shake hands with family, friends, colleagues and business contacts may seem trivial. But to relinquish the handshake permanently is to accept a further erosion of respect and simple good manners.
It is a gesture that has sealed agreements and cemented accords for centuries. It is shorthand for agreement and of deals done; a device via which we say hello and wave goodbye. It is a public display of friendship, kinship and of respect. And it is a default greeting for long-time friends and new acquaintances.
I had never previously given the humble handshake a great deal of thought. But echoing the truism that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s taken away, the temporary (I hope) loss of the ability to shake hands with people during the COVID-19 pandemic has reminded me of the importance of this seemingly simple gesture.
Is anyone ever been taught how to shake hands outside of schools for etiquette? I certainly wasn’t. My handshake is entirely self-taught, like my signature and my kissing technique. And like both those things, it has evolved over the years. It has been honed and refined with practice. It has become a part of me.
My signature is all but illegible. My kissing technique could be best described as passable, although my wife and my grandchildren still seem to enjoy it. But they are mine. This is my handshake. There are many like it, but this one is mine. Without me, my handshake is useless. Without my handshake, I am useless.
A Lifetime of Handshakes
There is a famous photograph taken after the final whistle of the 1970 Word up semi-final between holders England and eventual winners Brazil. Pele — for many (though not me), the greatest player ever to grace a football pitch — and England captain (and my boyhood hero) Bobby Moore are exchanging shirts. Both men are bathed in sweat, and Pele’s hand is on Moore’s face as a mark of respect for a defender that had just played him off the park. It is an iconic image. But there is a second less famous photo taken just seconds before that I have always preferred. In it, the two men are shaking hands. In my heart, I’d like to think that the more famous photo was initiated by the Brazilian; that it combined admiration and a sense of blessed relief at having emerged victorious. I’d like to think the less famous photo was instigated by the Englishman, that handshake conveying polite congratulations with just the gentlest reminder that he’d had the Brazilian at his mercy for the previous 90 minutes
The first time I met the man who would ultimately become my father-in-law was at a house party held to celebrate the birthday of the woman that would ultimately become my wife. After that initial meeting, he told my future wife that I had “a good, firm handshake”. We apparently took this as a good omen as we were married a few years later.
On the day I got married, my father was my best man (I took the term best man literally and chose the best man I knew). My father was never much of a hugger and I cannot recall us ever shaking hands until that day when we did it not once but twice. The first time was at the behest of the photographer, and was largely meaningless. The second time was as my new wife and I were leaving our wedding reception to head off on our honeymoon and the beginning of our married life together. I am sure we spoke, but I can’t remember what was said. What I do recall is that handshake. Real or imagined, that handshake seemed to convey best wishes and congratulations; a final goodbye to my boyhood and an official welcome to the world of manhood. At the beginning of that day, we were father and son; nervous best man and excited prospective groom. By the time that handshake broke, we were two married men; not equal and yet somehow the same. A baton had been passed.
Nuance and Unspoken Meaning
How many hands have I shaken in my life? Thousands? Definitely. Tens of thousands? Probably. Hundreds of thousands? Quite conceivably. My day job requires me to attend seminars, conferences and exhibitions and it is not unusual to shake hands with 50 or more people in a single day. And I have been doing that for more than 30 years. Whatever way you cut it, that is a lot of hands. And there has been a whole lot of shaking going on.
There have been hot handshakes and cold handshakes and a few worryingly moist handshakes along the way. There have been vice-like grips that were apparently designed to maim; and limp handshakes that felt like a fistful of dead fish. There have been handshakes that have lingered way beyond the point of comfort — After the first 10 seconds, you’re just holding hands. And there have been plenty that hinted at an unspoken secret. I have no idea what a Masonic or secret society handshake looks or feels like. But when you’ve shaken hands with someone dozens of times and it is oddly configured each time, you get the feeling that maybe there’s something more going on.
Regardless, each and every handshake is laced with nuance and undeclared meaning. There are handshakes that convey dominance and superiority, and handshakes born of subservience and inferiority. There are handshakes of victory and of defeat. There are handshakes that try too hard — the two-handed handshake always strikes me as too forward. There are handshakes that don’t try hard enough, like the perfunctory semi-shake favoured by football players in a pre-match line-up.
My personal preference is a simple handshake with two or three pumps. Occasionally, I might add a hand on the recipient’s elbow as a sign of additional warmth.
I am sure they have their place but I have no time for fancy and elaborate handshakes. Whilst I enjoy the popping sound it makes when it is engaged properly, the thumbs intertwined handshake is strictly one for frat boys and continental Europeans. And I have never high-fived anyone because (a) I am not American and (b) I am not 11 years old.
But I will grudgingly admit that even these poor excuses for a handshake have their place. Which makes their continued absence during the prolonged period of social distancing even harder to take.
Bonding and Unity
The temporary yet potentially permanent loss of the handshake could not have come at a worst time. We are living in an age of division along the lines of colour, race, gender, creed, religion, age and sexual persuasion. It is a time of public disunity. It is a time when — thanks to the rise and rise of social media — we each speak more, we talk more loudly and yet communicate less; a time when we use the very tools designed to bring us closer together to drive us all further apart.
It is a period in human history in which we are all crying out for bonding and unification; for friendship and kinship; for warmth, politeness and humanity.
The human cost of the COVID-19 pandemic is already incalculable, and the crisis is not yet over. The economic and financial cost will be a burden we will each carry, possibly for several years to come. Against that background, the loss of something as mundane and trivial as a handshake might appear inconsequential and unimportant. It isn’t.
For far too long, we have allowed traditional politeness, good manners and decency to be eroded. The permanent loss of the handshake — in all its forms — would be another step along a path from which there is no return.
I am looking forward to being given the all clear to sit in a coffee shop or to dine out in a restaurant. I am looking forward to being able to travel internationally once again. But perhaps more than all these things, I am just looking forward to shaking someone warmly by the hand. A handshake with no frills. A handshake of love, affection, respect or reassurance. A simple handshake that says “I missed you”.
Mark Anthony is editor of DemolitionNews.com
