A slow death…

I carefully took this classic blog and reworked it into a delicious masterpiece. Like making wine from yesteryear, I stomped and stamped every sentence, squashing adjectives and nouns to create a vintage blog you can decanter and enjoy. Like making a cheese and fruit plate, I carefully picked and plucked every sentence like the perfect figs and apricots to make the paragraphs pair well and encourage understanding. Last, I cautiously sliced every verb and adverb, like the best cheese for this platter of comprehension. Please enjoy my ramblings and learn something from yesteryear.

A slow death…

When my friends and I were younger, we made fun of the elders who made statements about how life used to be. These older people would say things like “When I was your age,” or “Back in my day,” or even “When I was a kid.” Now that I am more mature, I frequently make those same comments to the younger people around me. So if you are older, you can laugh at this essay because you have said it. On the other hand, if you are a younger individual, you can roll your eyes just as I did back in my day.

Now that I have become older, I have seen the handshake’s significance seriously slip. I disappointingly realize that society has debased and devalued the meaning of a handshake, losing its importance. Disturbingly, most times, a simple fist bump or basic head nod with no genuine intention has replaced the once-valued handshake. NOTE: I understand fist bumping is necessary during cold and flu season. I am not insensitive.

When I meet a person for the first time, I reach out with an outstretched hand to signify the proper etiquette of a bygone era. Individuals who do not know me often have given me the fingertip handshake. This practice annoyed me greatly because of my feelings toward proper protocol procedures. I soon realized that people unfamiliar with me fear the unknown and think I might share my illness from contact, like passing poison ivy. These individuals also do not know what they do not know and fear a handshake with my wheeled brethren and me.

My friend Terry recently introduced me to Jill, and it did not go as a first-time handshake should have. Jill took my outstretched hand and quickly did a half shake in the downward motion and promptly dropped it like it was on fire. It felt like the cross between a half handshake and a let-go, Scott. I do not want to catch your cooties! Did she honestly think that way? Probably not, but feeling rejected for something I had no control over was hurtful.

They told me many years ago that your word is your bond, and the handshake seals the deal. Now it seems your word and handshake no longer have trust, honesty, and faith to stand behind them. The phrase my handshake is my bond is now the punchline of a joke bringing comedy, not conviction. I do not feel we limit this loss to wheelchair users, as this etiquette of yesteryear dies a slow death.

RIP: Handshake. You stood firm for so long.