By “hey there” I guess I mean that you are over there, and that by the process of elimination, I am over here. It’s the extent of my knowledge of physics. By speaking my “hey there” I like to think I am somehow spanning the distance between us. I infuse it with as much warmth and respect as I can. Elderly folks seem to appreciate it the most. Adolescents are usually in shock. But, I think my “hey there” will bridge the gap. Maybe even change the world. Maybe. Some people nod or smile. Others say hello. And, still others ignore me and say nothing. The last group I always assume is on vacation from Chicago.
Residents of Washington Island, Wisconsin have it figured out. Washington Island—despite being only six by five miles—has one of the oldest and largest Icelandic settlements in America. I confess that my mental picture of Icelandic people doesn’t allow them the display of warmth or hospitality. I think of grave, black-and-white fishing boat captains and their severe, black-and-white wives, somber and cold as cod. No offense, Iceland. It’s me, not you. Probably from watching too much television and consuming too many frozen fish sticks as a child.
Anyway, this Icelandic crowd surprised me. Every driver it seems on Washington Island has his or her own wave. Not really a traditional wave, as hands never leave the steering wheel, but subtle variations of finger movements that make each driver’s gesture his own.
There is the slow index finger arc from left to right, reminding the oncoming driver of the path of the sun in the sky. A metaphor for the passage of time and the importance of tending to friendships in the time we’re given.
Actually, I just made that up. I have no idea.
But, whether it’s the quick, confident index finger salute, like a mailbox flag, or a twirling, gunslinger gesture ending in a pistola aim-and-shoot, the motivation is the same: Hey there. Bridging the gap. I only lived on the Island for two summers, and yet I received the same neighborly treatment as someone who lived there for 60 years. I spoke to one Islander who was born and raised there, and she told me she had never, in fact, left the Island in her 60 years. Not even so much as a ferry trip to the mainland. I was in disbelief when she told me, and all I could think was, “Poor castaway.” But, now, as I consider these common friendly gestures (hey, I know they’re not monumental, but they could be a lot worse), maybe I understand why she never felt the need to leave.
Yes, people grouse about the sham humility of Midwesterners and the faux graciousness. But, maybe there is something to be said for polite acknowledgement. A warm regard. That initial gesture of neighborliness. Because it is rare. Sam Smith, writer and activist, observes, “I feel the vacuum, the loneliness, the dehydration of the soul as people...still wander the streets without knowing how to say hi to one another.” Take a visual survey--walk downtown or in your local Big-Mart--there is a veneer of defensiveness and suspicion surrounding human interaction today.
Maybe neighborliness is one of those things you learn from the outside in. A waving hand, or friendly gesture sets the rest of the body and soul on a path towards being a neighbor. Polite regard may even help us do what’s right. I’ve heard that pre-WWII the British people had the same animosity towards Jews as the Germans had, yet British manners wouldn’t allow for the same kind of persecution.
A wave or a “hey there” puts us in a position to know the other person. To bridge the gap. And, from there, who knows, maybe our neighbors’ concerns might even become our own concerns. It’s a small thing, I know, but if you are ever on the receiving end of my “hey there”, would you at least pretend to acknowledge me over here? Then we can go from, well, there.
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