Of the importance of a handshake

Layla and Luka: Not yet shaking hands but really grooving on the influx of rotisserie chicken.

I believe you can learn a lot about a person by shaking their hand and listening to their story.

One day in Denmark, I shook a man’s hand and he told me a lovely story about a multigenerational friendship and the tribute he makes daily to his longtime friend.

Another time, I shook a physician’s hand right before she showed me scans of the new tumors growing in my breast. Not all handshakes are pleasant. Not all stories are lovely.

One of the loudest ‘handshakes’ I ever had was when I met former Rep. J.D. Hayworth at a town hall meeting in Arizona. As he took my hand, he said: ‘Bless your heart. How are you?’ and promptly hugged me. Note: As a general rule, journalists do not enjoy being hugged. Especially by politicians.

When I started thinking last week about the chatter and chaos coming out of Washington, D.C., lately, I decided: If we could just shake hands and listen to one another for a minute, life might be less hectic, hateful, or dismaying.

So, I pledged to start shaking more hands.

Currently, I’m doing so mostly on the home front. With my dogs.

As it turns out, shaking hands and speaking to someone who doesn’t understand you is difficult, frustrating, and, in this case, a bit expensive with the enticing treats involved.

Teaching Luka and Layla to shake my hand has required many pieces of rotisserie chicken, untold time sitting on the floor to be near their recalcitrant little feet, lots of slobber (My God … The slobber), and the patience I never thought I could muster.

During our sessions, which last anywhere from five to 15 minutes, I present a piece of chicken in my closed fist.

Luka and Layla usually respond by licking or chewing on my hands to get the chicken. Unfortunately, they do not raise their paws to swipe at my hand like I want them to do so I can say, ‘Yes! Good!’

Instead, they usually move from licking and chewing my hands to staring me directly in the eyes as if they are saying: ‘What the hell, woman? Give up the chicken already!’

From there, they look at each other and shrug their tiny shoulders in resignation like: ‘She’s trying to starve us to death.’

Then, they fall to the floor in abject hunger and put their heads on the little paws I have been trying to get them to offer me.

And, that’s when I cave. I give them the chicken they haven’t earned with a solid canine handshake.

See: Difficult, frustrating, and messy.

During the pandemic, we were advised not to shake hands with others for fear of spreading germs. Enter, the elbow bump. To me, the elbow bump just doesn’t work as a genuine greeting. You can’t really look someone in the eye while doing it for fear of elbowing them in the gut or heaven forbid elsewhere.

So, I’m a handshaker.

My dogs? Well, that remains to be seen.

Maybe there will come a day when love, patience, and persistence accomplish a true handshake for us and we start to fully understand each other. Servings of slobbery rotisserie chicken likely will also play a part.