The Problem With Waving

One day my father took me downtown. We were running errands. We heard a car honk as it passed by us on the street. But it wasn’t an angry honk. It was a quick, double-beat honk. The friendly, “hello” kind. My father immediately, almost impulsively, responded to this sound with an enthusiastic wave and a smile in the direction of the vehicle. At this, I peered into the windows of the car, trying my hardest to see who it was that he was waving to. Was it a cousin of ours? Was it a neighbour? A colleague of his? But soon the car was out of sight and I had not caught a proper enough glimpse of its contents to make an accurate identification of the driver.

“Dad, how do you know who it was in the car? Did you just recognize the vehicle as one of your friends’?”

My father still had the residual curvature of his warm smile at the edges of his mouth, though he was looking ahead as we continued to walk down the street. “No,” he said, without looking at me.

“Then how do you know who it was?”

“I didn’t.” He was still half-smiling and looking straight ahead. Now I was confused. If he didn’t recognize either the car or its driver and passengers, then, it is very possible that the honk was not even intended for us at all. On a street half-full with pedestrians, other cars, and shops, there was really only a slight chance that it was us that the car was greeting. And for that matter, the chance was even slighter that it was solely my father to whom the honk was directed. With such a great probability that my father was mistaken in waving to the car, which was in all likelihood full of strangers, I couldn’t help but imagine the car-load of people laughing at my silly father who naively waved back at them like a lunatic. “Who is that weirdo waving back at us?!” They would joke, “Does he think we just honk at anyone? What makes him so special to be the ‘chosen’ one to whom we honk?”

Embarrassed for my father, I decided this issue could not go undiscussed. For his own sake, and to ensure that he did not repeat his mistake in judgment.

“Dad, do you realize that they probably weren’t even honking at us?”

“Yes, of course I realize that, dear.”

“Well you must have looked pretty ridiculous if you were waving at strangers like that,” I said, in a tone that came out a little harsher than I had intended.

“Well that is a risk I was willing to take,” He responded. I walked in a state of silent shock. Why would my father subject himself to ridicule like that? He just put himself out there to be laughed at, and by whom? By a group of hooligans in a passing car. They don’t deserve such satisfaction at my father’s expense. I felt angry at the car, and angry at my father for allowing himself to be victimized. And why did he need to risk anything anyway?

My father must have noticed my silence. He stopped and looked me in the eyes.

“I understand that it may be embarrassing to wave at someone even if you don’t know them, but consider this: what if you wave at someone you know and they simply don’t wave back for whatever reason? Maybe they are unsure as to whether your wave is intended for them. So to avoid possible embarrassment, they decide to ignore you. Now who is left feeling embarrassed? The person who made the original wave.”

“Yes, I have been in a similar situation…” I said.

“So, I always wave back, whether the greeting is intended for me or not. If I end up a little embarrassed, it is worth it. It is worth saving another person from embarrassment.”



Needless to say, in Montreal I often end up "a little embarrassed". That's the problem with waving.