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Last updated: November 06. 2006 2:02PM
REFLECTIONS
Say Hello, Wave Goodbye
My point is that you acknowledged the presence of the person whose elbow you would almost brush in passing. When did this custom die? I don’t know. I came back to the beach 16 years ago after a long while away. The practice of greeting on the bridge was still strong.
It was a slow death. I think it may have begun with the completion of I-40. That final link to Wilmington helped usher in a surging tide of newcomers. I started noticing it when a young woman acknowledged my greeting by appearing about to slap me upside the head with her pack. Then a middle-aged fellow glared at me. His stony eyes said, “You’re not going to run any con on me!”
If I seem to go on too long about this, humor me. I truly miss the greetings. They were sweet connections to strangers on a friendly bridge. I know that on a scale of 1 to 10, goodbye to “Good morning” might rate only a 2, compared to the changes that have brought crushing traffic, menacing drivers, more noise, $11 sandwiches and a decline in the number of fish that can be pulled flopping onto an uncrowded beach.
There are other things I miss. I would like to be able to understand the words of popular songs, as I once could. I yearn for the quiet dignity of Joe DiMaggio – in victory or defeat. I wish I could call back the pleasant “You’re welcome” to replace “No problem.”
I know that change is constant. I know, too, that I must pick a path: Live with change somewhat gracefully or stay mad half the time. The trick of it, I am learning, is to do what Cap’n Cunningham told Cool Hand Luke: “Boy, you got to get your mind right.”
I took a small step in that direction purely by accident. Trying to cross the Causeway on foot one hot afternoon, I found the cars too thick for me to make a safe crossing. Mumbling some profanity to myself that my mother would not have liked, I thought: If all these damn people hadn’t come here from all over, this wouldn’t be happening to me.
On the heels of that thought, came a second. I found myself reflecting on all the places I had lived – first on a farm, where I was born, then in 24 towns and cities. In each town and city, someone could have confronted me: “This was a fine place before all you damn people started coming here from all over.”
I anchored that thought in my mind. I concluded that for my own comfort I had to accept with some degree of grace all comings and goings, regardless of how many people were involved. That was a start.
I’m getting the hang of it, and I’m only 80.
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