The Wave: A sacred ritual

In our small town of Newcastle, we have many fine traditions: the annual fair, Friday night football and pretending the wind isn’t trying to sandblast us into the next county. But none compare to the single most important social contract we all uphold: The Wave. Now, I’m not talking about the stadium wave. That takes a certain amount of group cooperation, muscular dexterity and an infantile fascination with Nickelodeon or The Cartoon Network to pull that off. Personally, I’m not sure we’re ready for that … not yet. 

But, for the wave, you don’t have to know someone. You certainly don’t have to like them. You simply must recognize them as a creature of the planet Earth and wave. Failure to do so and you risk becoming town legend — the mysterious stranger who “thinks he’s too good for us.” I learned this the hard way shortly after moving here, when I drove past a rancher on the edge of town and offered only a polite nod. The look he gave me suggested I had just kicked his favorite dog. Now, while I wanted to do just that, the lesson was received. Nowadays I wave like my social standing depends on it. That may be going a bit too far. Let’s just say my ability to endure quizzical looks has reached a breaking point. I’m too good for that. That may be stating a bit too much … so go back one sentence and don’t read it.

Waving at each other has an interesting evolution. In the year 12,347 BC, during the Great Armpit Itch Epidemic, a nearsighted caveman named Thog mistook a charging woolly mammoth for his mother-in-law. Panicking, he flailed his arms wildly while yelling “GO AWAY, HELGA!” The mammoth, thinking this was some sacred primate dance, stopped, bowed and flapped back. Thus, waving was born.

By 3000 BC, Egyptians turned it into “The Royal Wrist Flick” to signal to pharaohs they weren’t hiding snakes. Romans weaponized it during chariot races, accidentally inventing traffic jams. It was followed up with the artificial fart under the arm, signaling the invention of honking horns during said traffic jams. Today, we wave because ancient squirrels bribed historians to hide the truth: Waving distracts humans while they raid our picnics.

Today the Wave comes in many glorious forms. There’s the classic one-handed lift, the full palm-open “Howdy,” the subtle finger wiggle from the steering wheel (popular among women over 60 and men pretending they’re too busy driving and not lip syncing to “Born to Be Wild”), and the majestic Two-Handed Enthusiast, usually reserved for people who haven’t seen you since last Tuesday. My neighbor down the street, “Crazy” Carl, has perfected something I call the Royal Wave — a slow, almost papal rotation of the wrist that somehow conveys both dignity and mild suspicion. Crazy waves like he’s blessing the crops. His wave also suggests that something really bad happened years ago and he can no longer bend his wrist. It probably happened to him when he was driving and was distracted by trying to remember the words to “Born to Be Wild.”

There’s also Betty down at the corner of Fourth and Fifth. Now this may be that she finds herself in a place that doesn’t exist, because Fourth and Fifth don’t intersect, but Betty doesn’t just wave. She performs. If you’re on foot, she stops whatever she’s doing — watering flowers, chasing a loose dog, arguing with the mailman, trying to figure out how she ended up living on a corner that doesn’t exist — and unleashes a full-body dry heave routine that could guide a 747 onto the runway while the pilots are listening to “Born to Be Wild.” I once saw her wave at a passing tanker truck with such vigor that her gardening hat flew off and landed in Mrs. Gunderson’s yard across the imaginary intersection. The truck driver honked twice in appreciation, or in a way that suggested he had no idea how he arrived at that place and that time. He also gave a one-fingered wave in return. To me that gave it away that he lived somewhere else. But we won’t go into his wave any further. I have no need to chase down such bird-brained ideas.

The Wave absurdity peaks when you don’t actually know the person. You’ll be cruising down Washington Boulevard, when a dusty pickup appears going in the opposite direction. Some weathered soul lifts two fingers off the wheel in solemn greeting. What are you supposed to do? Ignore him? Of course not. You wave back like you’re old fishing buddies, even though the only thing you know about this man is that he apparently owns a very large dog. How do you know this? He drives a dusty pickup. Isn’t it obvious?

I’ve developed several theories about why we wave, no matter what type of mutant it is. Theory 1: It’s a survival mechanism. In a town this small, there’s a decent chance the person you snub today will be the only available tow-truck driver when your car slides into the ditch tomorrow. Theory 2: We’re all slightly lonely and The Wave is our way of saying, “I see you, fellow human trying to get groceries without incident.” Theory 3, my favorite: We’re all just practicing for the possibility that one day a celebrity might drive through town and we want everyone to think, “Hey! He knows Kevin Bacon!”

Even the animals seem in on it. I swear Old Man Jenkins’ border collie gives a little tail wag when you drive by their place. Jenkins himself waves with his entire arm, the way people direct traffic after a fender bender. His wave says, “I’ve lived here since the dinosaurs and while I still like you, mostly, I ask you to quickly pass … THAT WAY.”

In a world increasingly full of honking, ghosting and angry emojis, there’s something stubbornly decent about The Wave. It costs nothing. It takes half a second. And for that brief moment, two people who may never exchange another word acknowledge that they share the same patch of windy, beautiful but not quite normal earth.

So next time you’re driving through Newcastle and some fool lifts his hand off the wheel for no good reason, do yourself a favor. Wave back. You might not know him, but around here, that’s never been the point.

And if you see Betty, for the love of all that is holy, give her the full two-handed special. Your reputation depends on it.