6/20/2004

Sunday Sermon

Shaking Hands—Remembering My Dad

I remember shaking my father's hands many times. We didn't “hug.” We shook each other's hands. We greeted each other with a very firm hand shake.

My son taught me it was all right to hug each other, but that is another story. My father was a very tall man, almost six foot four and very big, not fat, just big. He grew up in New York City and had no skills in fixing anything around the house. They called the “super.” My father had very soft hands.

He was a typist, as he started out as a writer, and although he only used two fingers to type, his gripe was very strong. His handshake was very soft, and strong.

I remember it very well.

In Tim Russert's book, “ Big Russ & Me” he talks about learning to shake hands, just as my father taught me.

“Nobody I knew ever called grown-ups, even close family friends, by their first names, and the grown-ups never suggested that we should. To this day, when I go back to Buffalo and I run into one of our neighbors, I still address them as “Mr. Griffin” or “Mrs. Geary

“Shaking hands with adults was very important, at least for boys, and it was something I practiced with Dad until it became second nature. Dad insisted on a firm handshake, and he worked with me until I developed one. ‘When you meet somebody, “he would say,' you want to make them feel that you're proud and happy to know them. So don't put a wet fish in their hand. Give that hand a good shake, snap your wrist, and look them in the eye. People are people, and if they like you, they'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Treat them the way you'd like to be treated.'

“A good handshake seems so basic, but it's a useful lesson to learn and an easy one to overlook because it sounds so obvious. But a good handshake doesn't always come naturally, and it's one of those skills that kids don't necessarily master unless their parents make a point of teaching it. These things were so ingrained in me that I passed them along to my son, Luke, almost without thinking. When he was four or five, I heard myself echoing Dad's words as w practiced what to do when he met an adult for the first time---or the twentieth. I'd say, “come here, buddy, and let's shake hands,' and I undoubtedly used the phrase ‘wet fish' as part of the lesson. Dad also taught me to say “sir” and “ma'am” to adults, and I made sure Luke learned that, too. It's all about making a good impression and showing respect to other people.

“When Luke was a junior in high school and we went to visit a few colleges, one of the deans took me aside and said,” That is one impressive young man you have there.” I was happy to hear this, of course, and I silently hoped he would elaborate which he did. “ Your boy shook my hand,' the dean continued. “ He looked me in the eye and engaged me in conversation.” That's all it took! and from the way the dean said it, I could tell this wasn't something he saw every day. I was proud of Luke, but even more, I was grateful to Dad.”

My Dad also taught me to shake someone's hand. I taught it to my son, too, and ironically, I also used the phrase, “Don't shake the hand like it was a ‘wet fish.

Give a firm grip, snap your wrist, and look the person in the eye, and say you are pleased to meet them.”

There were many things my father taught me, too. Reading the book reminded me of many of them.

I certainly also recommend Tim Russert's book, “Big Russ & Me.” It is very wholesome, refreshing, humorous, and most of all, a warm book saluting the values his father taught to him. I am in the middle of reading it, enjoying it tremendously.

Kit Menkin